Winner Takes All
by madascheese
Summary: Without Henry, Vicki is left with the difficult task of bringing Astaroth down by herself. In the midst of her search for the elusive demon lord she discovers a whole new entity, who attacks her but leaves her alive - what she doesn't get, is why.
1. Black and Blue

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own anything to do with Blood Ties, but I bloody well wish I did!! I'm just borrowing the characters etc for a while, and I promise I'll give them back when I'm done with them, though I'm not sure if they'll still be in one piece... ;) On with the story!!

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The familiar night-time darkness wrapped itself tightly around Vicki as she slowly ascended the stairs to her office, exhausted after a long night's work. A light flickered feebly somewhere further down the hallway, occasionally spilling a brilliant white light into the darkness as she carefully navigated her way to the office and opened the door.

Coreen jumped clean out of her seat as the door swung open, surprised and yet relieved to see her friend back in one piece.

"Vicki!" she gasped. "You scared the hell out of me..."

"No kidding. I thought you were going home to do that sleeping thing," she replied, slumping onto her comfortable desk chair as intense pain throbbed through her body. It hadn't been an easy night.

"Well, you were supposed to a) not do that chasing after Astaroth thing and b) call me as soon as you were on your way home."

"I'm sorry. Things got a little...hairy."

Coreen cast her a sympathetic, but fiercely reprimanding look reminiscent of the PI herself. "You've got to be careful, you know. Henry's not here to watch your back anymore."

"A little harsh, don't you think?"

"Sorry, but it had to be said. You have to stop throwing yourself into fights with things you know nothing about."

"I can handle myself, thanks." A note of bitterness pierced her voice as the memory of him lurched in her stomach. She was supposed to be forgetting about all this, moving on. Coreen seemed to be making it far more difficult than it had to be.

"So, what happened anyway?" Coreen busied herself organising some of the many case files scattered lazily around the office, if only to conceal her expression of concern regarding her friend's welfare.

"Met a source, source turned out to be a demon in disguise, demon went away with very sore head and a broken arm," she relayed, a newly poured glass of amber whisky glittering merrily in the dim light of the room. She rested the cool, smooth surface of the glass against her aching forehead, breathing deeply as she tried to ignore the throbbing pains in her back. Her adversary, a demon who could fool an onlooker into thinking he was human, had seen fit to kick her across the narrow street like a ragdoll, with no-one around to hear her scream with pain. She was, in all honesty, lucky to be alive.

"What's the damage to you then?"

"Nothing that won't heal," she replied casually, barely concealing a grimace as she shifted slightly in her chair. "Anyway, that thing just ran away with its tail between its legs. It was kind of weird actually," she remarked, the memories of their fight becoming ever clearer. "I – well, I was on the floor – and this was _after_ I nearly snapped that thing's arm off – and it just ran. It was as if something had it spooked, or like it had done enough or something." The clarity in which she had seen this in her mind's eye suddenly became a little more hazy. "I don't know...I could have just imagined it. Maybe it'd had enough."

"You think it could have been working for something, or someone, else?"

"Maybe," Vicki replied, rubbing her forehead impatiently. "I'm not sure."

"If you have some sort of description I could try looking it up – I borrowed some great books from Dr Sagara and some of the stuff in those books are amazing. There's this fish demon - "

Vicki waved her hand, signalling her to stop. "You get way too excited about this stuff. Not tonight though, I need to rest and _you_ should be getting home. I'll call you a cab."

"Don't worry, I'll call one myself," she said quickly, mindful of the PI's discomfort. "Are you going to be okay here?"

"Yeah," she smiled grimly. "Thanks. I'm going to bed – can you lock up for me?"

"Sure thing. I'll see you tomorrow; get some rest."

Vicki nodded, smiling weakly at her colleague as she walked slowly into the lounge area of the office and lay down on the sofa, attempting to find a position that didn't exacerbate some sort of bodily discomfort; this, she found, proved to be so difficult that she simply had to give up, opting instead to curl up tightly, warm and protected.

Her mind wandered back to the encounter, each part of her body smarting with pain as she ran through the events, blow by blow. As much as her body wanted her to sleep, the detective in her just couldn't help but analyse and consider the night's turn of events. Coreen had suggested the idea of the demon just being a lackey – it did seem like an odd MO to dupe her into meeting him just for him to get a rise out of beating the crap out of her. He couldn't have been working for Astaroth though, she thought – Astaroth didn't want her harmed, just captured and brought to him. So, this would mean that there could be a new player in town, someone who clearly wants to make themselves known, but who definitely doesn't do things by halves. But who?

As much as her mind ached to get up and consult those heavy, leather-bound volumes she had lived in for the past year, her aching body resisted, so she sank into the soft cushions and closed her heavy eyes, falling asleep to a montage of demons, priests and the sensation of fire licking her wrists playing over and over again in her mind.

***

The relentless, icy wind of the Canadian winter rushed mercilessly through the narrow streets as the demon made his way back to his mistress. She would be pleased with his work this evening, no doubt – he had done exactly as he was asked, and had recalled at just the right moment. His right arm was already beginning to heal, a product of the endless benefits privy only to the eldest of his kind. He moved it gingerly, bending it slightly as he continued to move towards safety, nigh on undetectable in the shadows, and grimaced with pain; the discomfort would be gone soon, he assured himself, never faltering in his effortlessly fluid movements, careful to avoid being seen by the inhabitants of what he knew only as 'the surface'.

Her scent alerted him that he had finally reached his destination; using his good arm, he easily lifted the manhole cover, his route to safety, and dropped down into the stinking sewers he called home. As he slid the cover back over the hole an overcoming wave of security spread through his monstrous form; enjoying the sense of being where he belonged, he jumped cleanly down from the ladder and made his way along the familiar, twisting tunnels of the world below – his world, the underworld where the creatures too monstrous to live on the surface dwelt. He continued to move swiftly through these underground passages he knew so well, taking each well-remembered twist and turn through the crudely lit sewers until he began to feel the very essence of his kind emanating within him, and she was there.

He walked more slowly through the echoing antechambers filled with lesser-ranked members of his horde, allowing their reverent gazes to wash over him pleasantly whilst he looked straight on – the only eyes he was interested in looking into today were those of his mistress, those beautiful, powerful brown irises holding a fire and thirst for power that seemed to also blaze within him, though he knew he could never be so bold as to look into them directly. He knelt before her, her porcelain face half-tainted with shadow, and waited for her questioning to begin.

"So?" She asked, her voice pulsing with a gentle, yet slightly jagged tone.

"I did as you have asked," he replied, head bowed to the ground. "I allowed her to walk away, though not completely uninjured."

"Good. Tell the others to keep away from her, at least for the time being," she replied, eyes burning brightly despite the gloom. "I've brought you something, as promised. Bring her in!"

At once, two other creatures entered from to the side, each of them supporting a beautiful, blonde girl by the arms as they carried her towards him. A white handkerchief was fastened tightly around her mouth, muffling her desperate pleas for help as he stared up at her, her bright blue eyes widening in response. She saw, quite clearly, the hunger and malice in his eyes, and screamed as loudly as she could whilst her captors looked on in silence, clearly unconcerned by her weak struggles against the steel-like binding that were the creatures' grip on her slim, delicate arms.

"Thank you, my lady," he replied, humbled by her generosity. "You are very kind."

"Quite true. You may leave, but be prepared for the next act – a few more days, and everything is going to change."

"As you wish," he replied, rising to his knees and acknowledging her with a deep bow. He turned to the girl and addressed her captors sternly, making his own authority known: "Take her into my chambers, then leave. Prepare, as the mistress has said, for the next step; our moment is soon to come."


	2. Innocent

Vicki awoke the next morning to hear the door to her office open; instinctively, she reached for her baton, grabbing her glasses and shoving them on roughly.

"Vicki?" Coreen called. "You here?"

"Yeah," she replied hoarsely, hoisting herself into a slightly more comfortable seating position on the sofa as her colleague slid the door open and peered into the gloom.

"Are you feeling any better?"

Vicki winced as she shifted slightly in her seat. "Not exactly. It always hurts more the day after."

"I guess. Listen," she replied, smiling excitedly. "Have you got a description of the demon you were fighting? I could look it up, see what's what, you know…"

"You get way too excited about this stuff," Vicki said with a quizzical look at her friend, who in turn rolled her eyes. "Okay, description – well, in his human form he was about 6'1", medium build, dark hair, kind of tousled but pushed to one side. He looked about mid to late twenties, I'd say about twenty six. No real distinguishing features – not until the whole 'peekaboo demon' thing, I mean."

"Uh-huh, ok. So what did the 'peekaboo demon' look like?"

"Hairless, for a start; its skin was this sort of luminous white colour, and it looked really smooth, apart from these weird ridges that stood up along his spine. It was more like the skin around his bones kind of contracted and shrunk around them – " an image flickered through her mind as she thought of the sudden tearing of the cloth along his spine, and the pure fear sinking through her as his body drained itself of all possible human colour, the contours of his nose and cheekbones sharpening as his skin pulled itself ever more tightly around his skull. A shudder ran through her as she tried to remember more about him – generally, she had been more interested in the fighting, or rather her survival, than his grotesque appearance.

"Anything different about his face?"

"Uh…fangs, I think, and these bright red eyes. It was like watching a movie that's mostly black and white, only for this super bright colour to come into the frame. I guess you could label his ears as a little on the pointy side…oh, and I almost forgot about its tail, this really pointy thing a couple of feet long that nearly skewered me…"

"Ok, great," Coreen replied, clearly optimistic and unconcerned with the more horrific aspect of the demon – then again, Vicki remembered, she wasn't there. "I'll go check it out."

"Thanks Coreen. Listen, if Mike calls – "

"I'll tell him you're busy," she replied immediately. She knew the drill Vicki had enforced of late – if Mike calls, tell him she's busy. The fact of the matter was, Mike hadn't called in just over two weeks, something she had been rather glad of – she hadn't had to lie to him yet, and she definitely didn't want to start now. It was clear to her that the proud PI wanted to find Astaroth alone, without anyone else in her way; a plan she heartily disapproved of, as she refused to leave her friend's side, even on her insistence.

Without saying another word to her disillusioned boss, she walked back to her desk in the office where a pile of heavy tomes awaited her. She picked one at random, an encyclopaedia of the demon kingdom, and flicked to the index of distinguishable features, a unique indexing method she had only ever seen in books she had borrowed from Dr Sagara. She drifted off somewhere between pages, thinking back to her meeting with the doctor two nights ago; even she hadn't heard from Henry, meaning either something was wrong, or that he simply didn't want to be found – after all, Vancouver is a pretty big place. He could be anywhere; the reminder of their abandonment struck a heavy, angry chord within her. As much as she wanted to, there was no real way she could protect her friend from the very real danger waiting just beyond the doorstep, and Mike couldn't do much better. They all needed him, and he had decided that he didn't need them. She had always considered him a friend, an older brother even – though not, admittedly, when she had first met him. Regardless, he had always been there for her, never faltering in the face of adversity, like her own personal champion – until now.

She turned the page a little too roughly without realising, nearly tearing the page altogether; what she needed to do now, she decided, was forget about him and rely on herself. Starting today, she resolved, she was going to completely take care of herself – if Vicki could do it, why couldn't she? Her mood lifted at the thought of buying one of 'those extendible stick-things', as she called it, that Vicki was so fond of pummelling people with and she smiled to herself, grateful for the distraction from all things Henry.

Meanwhile, Vicki had finally managed to hoist herself to her feet, despite the intense bruising she had suffered from the previous night – a small victory, but a good enough start to the day, at least. Providing there were minimal distractions, her main goal for today was to find out what that thing was and, if possible, what type of creature it was likely to work for, if any. After all, she couldn't be certain that this thing wasn't just acting of its own accord – many of the creatures in this world were still an unknown quantity to her, though her gut instinct told her that something wasn't quite right. Firstly, though, she needed coffee.

"Coreen, could you do me a favour and grab some coffee?" she asked, walking slowly and gingerly through to her office, massaging the aches in her lower back absent-mindedly.

"Sure, you want the usual?"

"Yeah, thanks a lot."

"No problem," the girl replied cheerily, grabbing her coat and bouncing out of the office.

Vicki sat down on Coreen's cushioned chair to look at the array of books lying, spread-eagled, on her desk. Various tailed demons stared menacingly back at her from the yellowing pages of these unusual compendiums, some with claws like scythes, others with fins and gills – fish demons, which took the award for 'weirdest looking things in the world' in her opinion. There was something quite draining about perusing these tattered pages, as she had done so often of late. Instead of the illustrations seeming fantastical or even artistic, they appeared in her mind's eye as tangible and real – they weren't pictures to her, but detailed, anatomical diagrams of everything that goes bump in the night.

Flicking through one of the larger volumes she came to a section titled 'Night Walkers'; her interest piqued, she turned to the contents page and, without really thinking, went straight to the page on vampires; it was here that she found her attacker.

The diagram showed exactly what she had seen – smooth, pale skin, sunken red eyes, the grotesque, ridged spine visible through the skin and a gauntness about the creature that seemed to pull the ageless skin ever tighter across its bones. Then there were the teeth; two rows of small, point teeth with a pair of large incisors, vicious looking fangs that could have quite easily drained the life from her. Looking immediately to the accompanying text, she found the passage confirming her earlier suspicions.

'Nosferatu,' the text read, 'are a generally reclusive species of demon, many of whom are forced to live away from the general population to avoid capture and death due to their obviously horrific appearance. They only emerge from their hiding places to feed; as relatives of the vampire, they subsist only on the blood of living entities, human blood being their preference. They share most of the susceptibilities of their cousins; they can be killed by a stake through the heart, decapitation or fire, though they not at all affected by sunlight.'

'Nosferatu also display, in general, much higher physical strength and more pronounced psychic abilities than vampires; it is thought that the latter improves over the lifespan of the creature, becoming increasingly powerful as they live their immortal lives, as this is often how the demons are known to attract their victims. This can take the form of mere psychic persuasion or, as is the case for the elders, the ability to completely distort the victim's perception of its physical appearance, even to the point where they can convince another that they are, in fact, human. These reasons, alongside other theories, support the speculation now common in Demonology that Nosferatu are simply ancient vampires, and that more modern vampires have evolved and become weaker as the bloodline has expanded over the centuries.'

Vicki's mind swam after this – she had obviously been chased by one of these 'ancient vampires', but why, when he was able to convince her so completely that he was human, did he allow her to live? He didn't even have to reveal his true appearance to her, but something just wasn't right, and her instincts swayed towards the conclusion that this was all part of the plan – perhaps these 'Nosferatu' were just sending a message...

At that point, Coreen shouldered the door open roughly, her hands full with cardboard coffee cartons and a box of doughnuts.

"Hi," she said, slightly breathless but still smiling. "Coffee and some bonus pastries, thought it might help you ignore the pain, you know?"

"Great, thanks," Vicki replied, distracted. "Hey, do you think you could do something else for me? I think I've found last night's demon."

"Sure, what do you need?"

"Find out everything you can about Nosferatu, and arrange an appointment with Dr Sagara for me if you can."

"Nosferatu," Coreen replied, incredulous yet excited. "As in Mr Lonely Vampire in black and white? Awesome!"

"Well, you're about halfway there with 'vampire'," she muttered in response, quickly shutting the book before she hobbled over to her shoes, which were awkwardly strewn across the floor. "The rest I'm not so sure about. I need to go visit Dr Mohadevan, can you hold the fort for a while?"

"No problem, I'll call you if I find anything significant."

"Great – I need you to find out, specifically, if these things have a habit of working together with other nasties, or if they really are the Mr Lonely Vampire type."

"Gotcha. Have fun!"

"Sure, I always have fun with the dead bodies – after all, how else could I start the day but with some demon sleuthing? I'll see you later." Trying to correct her hobble as best she could, she grabbed her coat and made her way down the stairs to her car.

* * *

Ten minutes later she found herself wandering down the all too familiar hospital corridors leading to the morgue, where Dr Mohadevan, Toronto's happiest pathologist, was dutifully examining the latest corpse to be brought to her expert attention, preparing it painstakingly for a full autopsy. Vicki knocked quickly on the cold glass before walking through the swing doors – her interactions with the doctor had always been anything but formal, especially since she dared to enter the PI industry.

"Good morning," came the doctor's cheerful greeting. "What can I do for you?"

"I really appreciate you letting me in at such short notice."

"You're a friend, Vicki," she smiled. "I'm here to help."

"Thanks. I was wondering if you've had anything strange come in recently, for want of a better word..."

"Every day this week there have been unusual cases, which I suppose, in itself, is nothing unusual at all. What exactly are we looking for?" the doctor probed, slipping on a new pair of

white, latex gloved that wrapped themselves tightly around her long, spindle-like fingers.

"Well, specifically I'm looking for anyone whose blood was drained through puncture holes in the neck or wrist, or anyone whose been drained at all really."

"We've had several cases fitting that description," Mohadevan said morosely. "Here, let me show you a couple, see what you think." She walked over to one of the tables, a still body lying on top but covered with a thin, sterile green sheet. "Do you have a culprit in mind?"

"Possibly," she sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she spoke, momentarily bringing her eyesight in and out of focus with each movement of her glasses. "It'd be something either using two sharp incisors to kill or a whole load of sharp teeth, and it's probably from one of the things that nearly had me for supper last night."

"Are you alright?" the doctor asked, her tone somewhere between concerned and reprimanding.

"I've been better, but it's nothing that won't heal," she sighed. "So, what can you tell me about the bodies?"

"This one's a John Doe, discovered two days ago in a dumpster downtown." She lifted the sheet carefully, revealing a pale, bloodless body sporting several large bite marks, though these were not the type of marks Vicki had ever seen before. They seemed to form clusters, almost like the things were using the whole of their top jaw to bite, as small holes arched violently around several places on the cold, still man.

He couldn't have been older than about twenty one, or twenty two from Vicki's estimation, an innocent kid robbed of his life by monsters he shouldn't even have been aware of. He looked thin and haggard even in death, with skinny arms and sharp ribs showing prominently through the ashen skin of his chest, and there was something about the way the skin looked slightly puckered, almost strained, at each side of his eyes that made her think that his suffering was almost too much to bear. It wasn't often she felt so sorry, so involved in a person's death; it always seemed as if the more personality you could see in a person's corpse, even just a wrinkle or a shadow of an expression playing somewhere on the face, the more real that death becomes.

"So," Vicki began, regaining her composure. "Was the blood drained or did he just bleed to death?"

"He was drained, but the odd thing is that he appears to have been drained out of all the wounds simultaneously. It's as if – well," the doctor hesitated, pulling the sheet back carefully over the man's face. "Let me put it this way – if we _are_ talking about creatures here, we're talking about more than one."

"Great," she sighed. "A horde of nasties. Have you ever seen anything like this before now, apart from what we've already worked on together?"

"Not personally, not like this – though it's not completely unheard of," Mohadevan replied evenly. "Even those who like to try and ignore the inexplicable enjoy a gory story once in a while, they just don't believe the truth."

"They're better off that way, believe me," Vicki said, her voice slightly sharp with bitterness.

A silence fell between them as the doctor's fingers twitched against the cold fabric of the pale green, clinical sheet respectfully covering the corpse – perhaps a rare moment of revulsion for the dead, as opposed to her usual relentless compassion. She caught Vicki's gaze and held it for a moment.

"I don't want any more coming in like this," she said, quiet and yet stern. "Do you know what's done it?"

"Don't you mean who?"

"You and I both know that this is no human endeavour."

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure I know what did it. Something's after me," Vicki replied, tearing herself away from the doctor's intense, incriminating stare. She couldn't bear to look at the one person who truly understood the severity of the casualties that occurred when Toronto's underworld, her world, bled into the world of the innocents.

"Then you have an obligation to stop it – "

"Which I will, believe me," she interrupted, growing impatient. "Have you had anyone else brought in with similar injuries or cause of death?"

"We've had a couple that looked exactly like this man, but we also had one brought in earlier this week with just four puncture wounds on the neck. More similar to the type of cases we used to work on."

"Messy?"

"Hardly – extremely neat, actually. Something tells me that this is a whole different entity, and one that we might have seen before. The similarities are striking."

"Great, that's exactly what I didn't want to hear," Vicki replied, feeling a wave of sickness, fear and trepidation spread quickly through her body. "Definitely four puncture wounds?"

Mohadevan nodded solemnly. "Perhaps this is something Henry could help you with?"

"No," she said firmly. "Not anymore; but I know someone who can help. Thanks, doc."

"Don't mention it," she replied. "But be careful, just because I don't want any more kids getting killed doesn't mean I want that to happen to you."

"I'll take that as a compliment then," Vicki smiled. "And don't worry about me – when I catch this thing, there'll be hell to pay."


	3. The Darkness Before The Dawn

The night was young, and still families could be seen hurrying out of the high street stores, sinking into their coats for warmth. It was only early evening, yet the sun had set long ago to make space for the winter moon – this time of year meant longer nights, a time favoured by those unable to face the daylight, the nightwalkers of the world unknown. This particular nightwalker, a vampire, walked through the crowds nonchalantly, the buzz of life around her electrifying her senses with each inhalation of breath, and the warmth emanating from them tangible to her even in the harsh, frozen air.

Toronto winters offered a clarity she had rarely seen in any other city; more often than not, the vast, indigo expanse of sky could be seen, dotted with thousands of pin-prick stars, and the very air around her seemed fresh and clear, newborn in the darkness. The mortals could never appreciate the night in this way, she mused – they were either desperate to hide from it, holed up in their cosy houses, light killing the darkness behind locked doors and tightly shut windows, or were too drunk, strung out or ignorant to care. If they knew what was really out there, they wouldn't risk it after sundown. She smiled to herself at this; mortals' naivety was always their downfall, but it made things a hell of a lot easier for her kind. Ignorance is bliss, for both parties.

She walked a little more briskly as she reached the end of the busy high street, wary of the time now; tonight, timing was everything. The people petered out here ever so slightly as the road led her to a less forgiving part of the city, a place she was unusually familiar with, at least for a woman of her stature. Though the streets became increasingly devoid of people the further she walked, whispers of music hissed in the air, a tell-tale sign that she was nearing her destination – a nightclub of some reputation, at least with those whose idea of a good time involved dressing like the dead. Two of them walked past, all black hair, black clothes and pale faces, white powder hiding the more human rosy cheeks provoked by the cold. They wandered into the very alley she was heading towards, so she followed, enjoying the warm, sweet scent of youth trailing in their wake and the endless, penetrating thud of their heartbeats. She thought of their innocence – especially considering that they would, no doubt, consider themselves worldly – and as this thought overcame her so too nearly did the temptation to rip that innocence from them, the very thing that she had lost centuries ago, though she managed to keep herself in check. Tonight was not for them; tonight, she had specific prey in mind, and for good reason.

She walked, slightly haughtily, past the doorman, handing him his twenty dollars without a word, and felt his thuggish, puzzled gaze fall upon her as she descended into the club, music pounding relentlessly through her body like blood. This dark room was full of young humans dancing and drinking underneath strobe lights, living their night time lives with the careless vigour that only mortals can display. She moved among them easily, her pale skin proving no hindrance to blending in, as she scoured the crowds for a girl not unique by looks, or ability, but by association. There was no sign just yet, so she moved towards the bar through the din, becoming a little tired with the ceaseless, deafening music and ordered a drink, though she didn't drink it. The liquid smelled vile, poisonous and artificial compared with the intense blood scent cutting through the air, not to mention the fact that the last time she had finished a glass of absinthe was back in the nineteenth century, and there were several good reasons preventing her from wanting to drink it ever again…

The intensity of the blood scent was, in fact, becoming to overcome her slightly; she inhaled deeply, careful not to close her eyes lest the sensations become heightened any further, when she spotted the girl walking through the archway, cloak fastened tightly at the neck, hair jet black, poker straight a glimmering slightly under the intense, artificial light – Coreen Fennel, trusted associate and friend of Vicki Nelson, the very person she was out to hurt. She watched her surreptitiously as Coreen approached the bar, regaining the focus she had lost somewhat in the whirlwind of distractions, resolving to keep a watchful eye on her hunted at all times.

A couple of hours passed in that hot, dark hollow of the city when Coreen was finally ready to leave, saying her goodbyes to her friends as she ascended the stairs, bathed in deep red and green lights, to the street outside. She followed her eagerly, the hunter in her awaking once again as she mirrored her footsteps. The streets were even quieter than before; the last dregs of the drunk and homeless lay desolately along the road, shivering in torn and dirty blankets, trying to salvage some warmth. The girl dropped a few coins into a cardboard cup, though the man was too vacant to thank her or even notice, continuing to stare blankly at something only he could see.

She watched, as Coreen walked into an old apartment block, pushing the heavy, metal door open before hurrying up the dark, creaking stairway to her door. She listened carefully, standing in a block of shadow just outside the building, for the click in the door as the latch closed and smiled to herself – humans and their obsession with flimsy locks that could so easily be broken. She thrust the door open with little trouble and hurried to Coreen's apartment, now able to use her preternatural speed to reach the landing within seconds, following the girl's scent like a bloodhound. Certain she had reached the right door she pushed it open, applying a little pressure to break the latch with effortless, dangerous grace.

Coreen's gaze snapped to her bedroom door as it slowly creaked open, shrinking back instinctively before she even caught a glimpse of what lay in the darkness beyond. Her eyes widened with fear as a tall, pale woman walked through it, a half-smile playing malevolently on her porcelain face.

"How – " Coreen began, fear spreading rapidly through her body as she searched for something to say. "Who are you? How did you get in here?"

"Come on, " the woman said, moving into a shaft of bright, orange light from a streetlamp leaking through a small window. "You don't recognise me from somewhere, not even a little bit?"

"Actually, I…" she hesitated, noticing something familiar about the woman; the dark, twisted curls of her hair, those fierce brown eyes, her straight-backed, almost haughty posture and sharp, aristocratic features striking a resemblance to something she had seen – something of Henry's. A painting perhaps…a painting Henry would produce every year, one she had glimpsed before he had hastily stashed it away from prying eyes.

"Christina?" she whispered, desperately hoping she was entirely wrong.

"Coreen," Christina replied. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

"Why are you here? What do you want?"

"Respect, courtesy…" She smirked at the terrified mortal as she advanced towards her, seating herself neatly on the edge of the bed. "Well, no, actually – what I want is a little more complicated than that."

"You're here for revenge, aren't you?" Coreen probed, trying to bide her time she slipped her hand underneath the blanket where her cell phone rested, hoping the vampire hadn't noticed.

"Firstly – no, I'm not out for revenge; when you've lived as long as I have, you tend to rise above such simple, mortal ideas. Secondly, hand me your phone. I can tell what you're doing and, believe me, it'll just make matters a hell of a lot worse."

Coreen's heart sank as she handed her only means of communication over – she had been trying, surreptitiously, to dial Vicki's number, though she wasn't exactly sure how that would have helped. Christina pocketed the phone, a more grave expression now labouring on her flawless, frozen features as she looked her prey directly in the eye, a scalding, threatening glare that seemed to penetrate the girl right through to the bone.

"If you're not out for revenge, what do you want?" Coreen persisted, throwing caution to the wind as a thought of rationalisation flashed in her mind – if she wasn't dead yet, there must be something holding the vampire back.

Christina tilted her head slightly with curiosity, somewhat surprised by the forthright way in which the mortal had posed the question. "If I tell you now it'll give the whole thing away. Enough with the pleasantries." Her inhumanely clear, crisp and decisive tone sent an unwanted chill through Coreen's body, a sense of intense dread beginning to overcome her completely. "I really don't want to be here until sunrise."

She caught a glimpse of hope flit across the girl's face and felt herself smile broadly. "But we'll have time enough."

The words had barely left the vampire's lips before Coreen felt her on the bed right in front of her and a shock of pain, jagged and sudden, ripped through her shoulders as she was pushed, with unexpected force, against the hard, stone wall behind her. Christina's black, endlessly empty eyes were the last thing she saw before those vicious fangs buried themselves in her neck, and yet more pain cut sharply through her body. She couldn't scream, only croaking pathetically when she tried to; Christina, in turn, responded by placing a single cold finger against her drying lips as she drank, carrying her away from reality in an empty tide with a current she simply couldn't fight against, until everything she had known faded away completely, leaving her alone in the impenetrable darkness of the vampire's eyes.

Christina raised her head from the girl's neck before her heart started to slow to a dangerous point – Coreen was barely conscious, but had more than enough life left in her for this night's purposes. She took a small silver knife from her jacket pocket, glinting in the unnatural, orange light spilling in from the street outside, and drew the keen blade quickly against the skin of her wrist, inhaling sharply as her delicate skin broke and blood bubbled up from under it.

She gently raised the weakened girl's head as, preparing herself, she pressed the wound to her partially opened lips, droplets of crimson blood decorating them like morning dew. She rose a little in turn, tongue moving slightly to catch the warm, rich liquid now filling her mouth, giving her strength, until her eyes opened again and she grabbed the wrist, the cold fount of life nourishing her, gripping it tightly with both hands as Christina bit down hard on her lip. Every sinew in her body seemed to strain simultaneously as the stolen blood was drawn from her body, each draught more painful than the last, until she ripped it away from the girl, purposefully allowing less than she normally would. Coreen, meanwhile, slumped back into the pillows, her eyes closed and body slack once again, still as the dead. She gazed as the girl lay there, not knowing what awaited her when she awoke in those downy blankets, feeling exhausted but satisfied; her work here was done. Now the games would really begin.

She stood and pulled the bedroom blinds shut for her newest, and most interesting acquaintance, feeling the beginnings of dawn tingling along the cool smoothness of her skin. With one last look at the result of a most productive, successful hunt, she smiled, walking out of the small, shabby apartment and closing the door behind her.

The following night she'd be back, and that's when the real fun would begin.

***

It wasn't until 10:30 the following morning that Vicki pulled up outside the university, her car shuddering to a halt in the icy clarity of the bright, sunny morning. She rested for a moment, breath suspended as light fog in mid-air as she prepared herself from a personal lecture from Dr Sagara; after yet another night filled with visions of monsters staring at her with red, haunting eyes and baring teeth ready to cut into her, the many ways in which she had driven Henry away was not a subject she was keen to discuss. The two of them had not exactly seen eye to eye after his departure, having previously had discussions relating to how negligent she was to his needs, and how selfish she had been towards him – the worst thing about all this being that, as much as she would have liked to protest, she wasn't exactly able to.

Like it or not, she had very little choice in the matter – something was out there, hunting the people of the city mercilessly, and chances were that Dr Sagara would know how to handle it.

Rationalising her own arguments, she stepped out of her aging car, locked the door and headed for the professor's office, hoping she would be faced with more answers than questions. She wandered down the old stone corridors filled with grandeur, walking through the beams of bright sunlight pouring cheerily through large windows that seemed to stretch from ceiling to floor with her gloved hands tucked casually in her pockets, until she reached the warm, wooden door of the office and gave a brisk knocked that echoed far behind her.

"Come in," Sagara called from behind her desk, putting down her pen to welcome the visitor. "Ah, Vicki. It's nice to see you." Perhaps not entirely truthful, but polite all the same.

Vicki returned her thin, yet courteous smile. "And you. How are things?"

"Not too bad, the usual I suppose. I imagine quite the opposite could be said for yourself, after what Coreen has told me."

"You can say that again," she sighed. "Can I sit down?"

"Of course. Still a little sore?"

"Oh yeah – in several uncomfortable places, actually," Vicki replied, narrowly avoiding a grimace as she sat down on a rather uncomfortable, hard-backed chair.

"Now, you mentioned you were attacked by a creature of the Nosferatu family, correct?" Dr Sagara asked, leaning forward slightly with interest.

"Yeah, I looked it up in one of the books you gave to Coreen. I know how to kill it, but there are some things I don't know; first of all, how the hell can I find these things if they can distort their appearance, and why didn't the bastard just go ahead and finish me off that night?"

"Let's start with the latter, shall we? You said that it just ran away from the fight, even though it probably could've killed you there and then. Have you thought of the possibility that it was working for something, or somebody else?"

"Well, yeah, I have actually. I mean, it could just be one of Astaroth's buddies, right?"

"It could, but it is unusual for the Nosferatu to co-operate with anything except their own kind. The only case I've heard that bucks the trend is when a group of them in London allied themselves with a particularly powerful vampire, which was about twenty five years ago."

"Why?"

"Punk rock," Dr Sagara answered simply, shrugging her shoulders. "I suppose it was slightly easier for the younger of their kind to disguise themselves without the use of their psychic abilities – just stick on a Mohawk, wear some trousers that hide the tail…I guess it could be done," she mused. "Anyway, it was all about causing havoc really, nothing more than that – just two parties of different species with the same agenda."

"Right, but why would they choose to ally themselves with anyone else?"

"That all depends on what each party is offering," she replied severely, a more serious expression now taking hold as she spoke. "There will be either a common goal or some sort of exchange happening – the old 'you scratch my back' incentive. It's likely, if this is the case, that they're working with something or someone who has some kind of 'vision', the sort of deluded talk you hear from politicians and cult leaders really."

"Great, so…what we're dealing with here is possibly a group of deluded, ancient vampires on a killing spree with a goal I've yet to discover?"

"Well, considering your strange encounter, I would suggest that it may have something to do with you."

"Of course it is. I seem to be on everybody's 'must beat to a pulp' list these days," Vicki replied soberly. "I only have two more questions then – where do I find them and what is the quickest way of killing them?"

"You'll need help," the professor said quietly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. "I think…well, you need to call Henry in on this one. From what he's told me in the past, I remember that he's come across these creatures before."

"I can't do that," she replied firmly. "You know how things are and, as I remember, quite enjoy reminding me that I've put him in danger more times that I can count on both hands."

"Then I can't tell you where they'll be," Dr Sagara sighed. "I don't necessarily appreciate the way you've treated Henry, but that doesn't mean I want you – or anybody else – dead. You'll have to put away your pride and resolutions for the sake of the greater good." She took a small, white card out of her top drawer and flipped it over onto the desk, sliding it across to the PI.

"Is this what I think it is?" she asked, looking at the phone number scrawled across the back of the card in familiar handwriting.

"Henry's cell phone number. I advise you to use it, unless you want more death on your conscience. The truth is, I don't know where they are, they could be anywhere in the city – they could be right under our noses and we wouldn't know. Vampires, however, can sense them a mile off."

"Have you been in touch with him?" she asked, letting the first tangible reminder of Henry sink into her.

"No. He told me to only use that number in emergencies – he didn't want any of us to end up in danger by association," the professor said sadly.

Vicki swallowed, attempting to rid herself of the dry lump that had settled in her throat. "Okay, I'll call him tonight. Thanks."

"Don't mention it, just take care of yourself. You're dealing with very, very powerful creatures here."

"Sure, thanks again. I'd – uh – I'd better get going," she replied, slipping the card into her jacket pocket as she stood and walked towards the door.

"You'll want to use a sword, not a stake as per the book," Sagara called as Vicki reached the door. "If this thing is powerful enough to convince you it's human then a simple stake won't kill it, it'll just cause a little damage. You need to take its head clean off to kill it."

"Thanks for the info," she said, a little hoarsely with a brief, small smile hiding the empty numbness that had begun to course through her body at the thought of Henry. With this, she walked out of the warm office and headed back to her car, the morning sun still beaming down brightly at her as she half-walked, half-ran back to her car, eager for some time alone. The cool, clear air hit her as she burst out into the courtyard, blanching her warm face pleasantly and slightly easing the knot that had been threading in her stomach. Her hand rested on the small, thin piece of card with the last physical memory of Henry resting neatly on the surface and, silently, dreaded the call she would have to make that evening. There would be questions, no answers, and more awkwardness as he came galloping to the city to save them, but then what?

More questions plagued her mind as she wrenched open her car door and flopped heavily into the seat, placing her head in her hands as she tried to silence her overwrought brain – "One thing at a time, Vic," she said to herself quietly as she started the engine. "One thing at a time."


	4. Fearless

Shards of afternoon sunlight cut into the dusty air of Coreen's bedroom, sweeping across her frozen, outstretched arm as she lay motionless on her bed. She woke with a start, inhaling a huge gulp of warm air suddenly as her body jerked upwards, a peculiar tingling feeling shivering over the skin on her sun-kissed arm.

She felt dazed and, for a few moments, completely blank, as if the essence of everything she was had been pulled out of her, replaced by a vast white emptiness without memory of who she had been; that is until a forceful torrent of memories, gushing as though falling from the edge of a cliff, pervaded her mind, and previous night's events came flooding back. She gasped, terrified, and clasped a cool hand to her neck – no marks, just her usual, thudding pulse, though it seemed to feel stronger against her hand than she had expected. She dashed to the bathroom, eager to check herself entirely, and was greeted immediately by a shaft of sunlight spilling into the room; a sickening wave of white fire shot to the back of her eyes. She cried out in surprise and agony as the pain penetrated her skull with ease, covering her eyes with one hand and hastily closing the door with the other as she stumbled backwards into the bedroom.

All sorts of frenzied questions raced through her mind as the pain finally subsided – had she been turned? This, she supposed, wasn't entirely a 'yes' – if she was already a vampire, she reasoned, she wouldn't even be awake yet; but something had changed within her, something deep, intangible and irrevocable. She doubted she would ever be the same again. Her shallow breathing, borne out of fear of whatever creature she had become, seemed intolerably loud to her, and she noticed that every one of her senses had become incredibly strong. The bright, chequered patterns of her quilt cover glowed as if she were watching them in Technicolor; she smelled the slowly decomposing remains of her quick-fix microwave dinner from the night before, left unceremoniously on the kitchen worktop, and the traffic racing by outside the apartment sounded so loud and clear it could have been in the next room to her. It was too much, too overbearing and busy, and she didn't know how to even begin processing this excess of sensory information being shoved in her face. She had to try and stop whatever was happening to her, she resolved, and it seemed there was only one person who could help. She grabbed her phone, which Christina had so politely left for her on the bedside table, and dialled Vicki's number with shaking hands.

"Coreen?" Vicki answered in urgent tones. "Where have you been this morning? It's after 2pm!"

"Vicki, something's happening to me," she replied, her voice wavering with fear. "I need you to come see me, like now."

"What happened?"

"Christina followed me home last night – "

A brief moment of silence followed as Vicki breathed, ignoring the chill of fear working its way through her body relentlessly. "I'm coming right now. Stay put, I'll be there in five."

***

Vicki slammed he car door shut, cascading the latent dirt that had collected on her often neglected car onto the sidewalk in a hazy cloud of dust. Her pulse raced, and anger raged somewhere deep in her stomach as the engine roared, a throaty growl that only seemed to reinforce the fury that had settled within her. She lurched down the streets, racing as fast as she could through the city without suffering the indignation of a speeding ticket, her hands trembling slightly on the steering wheel. Every second she spent waiting at traffic lights, or waiting for someone to turn, seemed ridiculously important as her mental clock ticked away with rapid urgency. This wasn't just anyone she was racing to save, it was her friend – again; and once again, it was likely to be because of her. Christina had nothing against Coreen, she was just using her. Horns blared from behind her as she punched the dashboard with frustration, speeding onwards with sheer determination until she finally came to a halt outside Coreen's apartment, brakes squealing in protest.

She ran up the stairs, leaping two at a time through the musty air of the stairwell when she reached Coreen's door, leaking sunlight into the hallway, left ajar from the night before, She didn't even notice the splinters of wood falling from around the broken lock as she swung the door open, rushing into her assistant's room, the Illuminacion Del Sol dangling dangerously from her tightly closed fist.

Coreen had curled up tightly on her bed, arms wrapped closely around her head as she tried to silence the world around her. All bare skin was covered – a black, long-sleeved sweater protected her arms, and gloved hands clasped neatly at the nape of her neck as her back heaved up and down with each breath.

"Coreen," Vicki said quietly, pity sinking deep into her through. "It's me, Vicki."

"Thank God," she whispered feverishly in reply. "Thank you, thank God you're here." She slowly sat herself up on the bed, taking her arms away from her aching ears with a wince as the sounds she had tried to block out rushed back mercilessly into her consciousness. "What the hell's happening to me?" she asked as she looked, imploringly, into Vicki's sympathetic blue-grey eyes.

"I don't know," Vicki replied honestly. "That's what I want to find out. Do you think you could tell me what happened last night?"

"Yeah…Christina was here, she must have followed me home from the club or something."

"You went to The Underground last night?"

She nodded slowly. "There was nothing out of the ordinary, and I didn't hear or see anyone unusual. Maybe I just wasn't careful enough…" she trailed off, a small tear spilling down her pale cheek.

"A vampire isn't your average stalker, y'know," Vicki replied, attempting to reassure her friend. "You know as well as I do that you can never really see them coming. Uh – this might seem like a stupid question, but are you sure it was her? I mean, it _was_ definitely Christina, right?"

"Yeah, definitely her. I'd seen one of Henry's pictures of her in his apartment, b-but she kinda confirmed it anyway." Her spine locked for a split second, frozen, as that single moment of recognition entered her mind; she remembered that distinct sense of fear, loathing and helplessness sinking through her body and shuddered slightly, unbeknownst to Vicki.

"What happened when you got home?" Vicki asked gingerly.

"Sh-she just came in. I think she must've broken the lock somehow. I was in my bedroom, trying to get some sleep, and she just came, started talking about stuff and then…she bit me. I – I didn't even see her coming, Vicki, she was so fast," Coreen replied, her voice slightly shaky as she repressed more tears.

"You couldn't have seen her coming – no-one could. Did she leave after that?"

"No." She looked down at the floor, unwilling to look into her friend's eyes and see the change in them as she continued. "She made me drink her blood. I didn't want to – I swear it! For everything I've always said about how cool they are, I never wanted – I mean, I just don't want that. When it happened, it only took one drop and I couldn't stop, I couldn't help it, and it just wouldn't stop flowing…"

"Don't worry," Vicki interrupted softly, her calm tone deftly covering the panic that had actually settled in. "You're obviously not one of them, so that's something. We need to find out what's happening to you, and I'm gonna have to call the expert in on this one. Do you…feel the same as normal?" She asked with uncertainty, unsure how exactly to word this for her young assistant.

"Everything's…loud," she replied quietly. "And my vision, my sense of smell, everything seems about ten times more powerful than usual. And the Sun – sunlight seems to really hurt."

"Ok, we'll deal with this. Grab some sunglasses and some shoes, keep yourself as covered up as possible and you can come back to the office with me.

"Sure, thanks," she whispered in reply. "Just please help me out of this."

***

An hour or so had passed in Vicki's now gloomy, dark office before she was able to get Coreen to rest; her senses seemed to be on permanent overload, so whenever someone walked across the landing above them, or a door creaked wearily on its hinges, it startled her. It had been difficult for her to even try to shut out the insignificant sounds and they had succeeded to a degree, though Vicki still noticed the girl twitch and recoil even in her sleep at the noises only she could hear.

She sat quietly behind her desk, staring into the darkness, until she remembered the small piece of paper that had been nestling in her pocket; casually, she flicked Henry's phone number onto the table and began instead to gaze at the dulled ink adorning the little scrap of whiteness amongst the unnatural dusk of the office, wondering what on earth she would say to him when the time came. Awkward didn't even cover how she predicted the call to unfold. Unconsciously, she began to form a mental picture of his 'new life' in Vancouver – she imagined him sitting, relaxed and at ease, on a swanky sofa in his latest bachelor pad, all leather furniture and expensive clothes. She could see his smug smile as he waited for his latest 'visitor' to appear – if he was ordering takeout, of course. Or perhaps he was dressed in a slick, fashionable suit jacket with tight jeans and holed up in some dark club somewhere, scanning a room of gorgeous twenty one year olds for his next dumb, blonde victim.

She caught herself, her rational explanation for this potentially sickening image flashing into her mind – the man has to eat, she reasoned grudgingly, it just irritated her that his evening meal tended to take the form of an attractive young girl, the type she had, and would, never be. Jealously sure stung like a bitch, especially since she didn't even feel she had the right to feel so envious of the 'lucky ladies' he was now paying attention to. She had spurned him, driven him away to damn near the other side of the country, and what for? Things might have been easier all around if she had left with him, but there was always something driving a wedge between them – fear, not of Henry, but of screwing up again, of hurting him, hurting the people she would leave behind, and landing herself with a bucket-load of regret that she'd never shift in a lifetime. And then there was the 'honeymoon' period to contemplate; after all, age and a dangerous, stressful job wasn't something that he had to deal with, so how long would it be before he tired of watching her wither and die over the years?

She breathed a long, tired and thoughtful sigh that seemed drawn out of her slowly, rather than forcibly exhaled, though it left her burden no lighter. Henry's scrawled handwriting seemed to stare straight back at her somewhat accusingly, sinking a hard stone of guilt into the pit of her stomach. The sun had since sunk just below the city horizon, leaving the busy landscape outside Vicki's window in the dusty haze of twilight as she opened the wooden blinds. Coreen stirred a little more animatedly than before, rousing a little, as though she sensed that slight change in the air just after sundown.

She had to call him now, before anything else happened. She lifted the handset of the phone and dialled the foreign number, feeling that familiar sensation of butterflies in her stomach, only this time the butterflies wondered how long it would be before they were shot down. It rang for what felt like several lifetimes until, after a short moment of silence, she heard his voice.

"Vicki?"

She stopped, dumbfounded, a chill running through her body as she absorbed the sound of that familiar, comforting voice. "How did you know it was me?"

"Well, no-one else who calls me hides their phone number," he replied smoothly.

"Right – uh – well…" her brain seemed to fail her at the most inconvenient times as she searched for some way to break the situation to him gently. "How are you?"

"I'm fine – look, is something wrong? I don't mean to be rude, but I told Dr Sagara to only give this number to you in case of an emergency."

"Right, yeah, ok," she replied abruptly, stung by his brusque attitude. "You want it to the point? You got it. Christina's here."

"What? Are you sure?" he replied incredulously.

"Firstly, let me make something clear – I've not made up some cock and bull story just to find an excuse to speak to you – "

"Ok, so – "

"I'm not finished," she interrupted. "So believe me when I say I wouldn't call unless it was a real emergency – this is for real. Your sire, your _old _feeding ground, your problem. Chances are, she's looking for you."

"You didn't answer my question," he replied pointedly. "How do you know it's her?"

"Well, there was the small incident of her biting Coreen and…what was it again? Oh, yeah, she drank some of Christina's blood – "

"Coreen's a vampire?" His tone was deadly, mourning, grey and serious.

"Not exactly. She's awake during the day – well, mostly, anyway. Sunlight seems to sting her and nothing more, her senses are a good deal stronger than usual…something's happened to her, I just don't know what the hell it is – "

"I'll get on the next flight," he replied simply in clipped tones, offering no further explanation.

"But Henry, what do I – " the phone clicked in her ear as the line went dead. "That arrogant, pig-headed…"

She muttered various obscenities to herself as she threw the handset back with anger and walked into the annex of the office to check on Coreen, hoping that her sheer frustration would be alleviated by a distracting influence. She walked into the darkened room only to find the sofa ominously empty, and no trace whatsoever of her friend remained.

"Coreen?" she called, scanning the dark room as best as she could.

There was no answer. The room itself was deathly silent, and the only noise that could be heard was the distant rumbling of street traffic pulsating from the heart of the city. She pulled her baton from her inside pocket, extending it with a well-practised flick of the wrist, and backed slowly towards the light switch, eats tuned acutely beyond the quiet ambience in case of danger. She flicked the switch, muscles poised for action, and light cheerily flooded the room, but there was till no trace that anyone had been there.

She turned back to face the main office, defeated, when she noticed a shaft of flickering light dance along the floor before her; the door was ajar and Coreen had gone – or been taken, though how more than one person could have got in and out without her noticing she didn't know. But where the hell could she have got to? She hadn't wanted to be alone this afternoon, and she was surely still in no fit state to go anywhere now. She pondered the possibilities, unwilling to either embark on a wild goose chase across a sprawling city or call in the feds; what Mike didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and the last thing she could deal with right now was sarcastic criticism.

Vicki remembered something Henry had told her once, a memory that had bubbled up from some unknown quarry of her mind. Newly turned vampires, if left alone and away from their sire, would always seek out their sire as a highest priority, something to do with finding answers and attempting to find closure about the whole thing, he said. Alexander stalked Christina for months, even though she would try to avoid him at every turn. Though Coreen had only been partly turned, if that was the case at all, maybe the same sort of reasoning applied.

So, she needed to find Christina; how she would go about that was a different, and more difficult matter entirely. Still, there was no time to waste, and something would be better than nothing. It was with this reasoning that she decided to pay Coreen's apartment a visit after all – it wasn't too unlikely, from her professional experience, for a criminal to return to the scene of the crime, though whether she would find her, of course, depended wholly on if Christina wanted to be found; something told her, an instinct maybe, a sense of the vampire's character, that this would most definitely be the case.

***

Meanwhile, Coreen walked briskly along the twilit streets of Toronto with a fierce sense of purpose, and a noticeable lack of fear. The night air felt fresh and clear as it lacquered the soft skin of her face, soothing the aching areas where she had been hurt by the harsh light of day.

Christina was calling to her, ordering her now as she pleased – where she went, Coreen would duly follow, as if pulled by a mysterious, unseen current existing only between the two women; and yet, it seemed perfectly reasonable, certainly not out of the ordinary to her. In fact, it felt rather comforting, as though Christina was there when needed, protecting her and looking after her best interests. She smiled a little as she crossed the street, drawing perplexed glances from passers-by, and felt a stab of sympathy for those left without the same sense of comfort. All the confusion and anxiety had been washed away at sundown, and her newfound self-confidence beamed a light of its own within her.

Despite having absolute faith in whatever it was Christina required her to do, she burned with curiosity, eager to know what her first task would be – as well as potential rewards. Her heart lifted as she turned into the familiar courtyard of her apartment, feeling herself grow nearer to that intoxicating sense of power she knew could come from no-one else. As she humbly open the door, she wasn't disappointed – Christina stood before her, dressed in a crisp, finely tailored suit that seemed to juxtapose the freedom of her free-flowing, ringletted hair resting contentedly on her breastbone. She was quite a vision to behold in the paleness of twilight, all pale skin and fiery, hungry brown eyes smouldering in the growing darkness. She smiled, a clipped, intelligent smile, as Coreen waited to be spoken to.

"So," Christina said, her voice crossing the room with strong, feline elegance. "You've become accustomed to the…adjustments?"

Coreen nodded. "Yes, and I understand my role now."

"Excellent, I should think so too," she said happily, both marvelled and relieved by the fact that her actions, based on ancient vampire lore, had worked exactly as planned.

"Now," she continued, "There's the matter of your first task. I need you to bring Vicki Nelson to me – it's not important how you do it, just keep her alive. You'll know where to find me; and I'm sure you can understand the consequences if you don't do as I ask. Understood?"

"Of course, no problem," Coreen replied, eyes wide with both fear and excitement.

"Good." That same calculated, intelligent smile crept back onto her face as she walked just past Coreen and beyond the door. "I need to feed – when I do, you'll be even stronger. I expect to see Vicki by the end of tomorrow night at the very latest; if this doesn't happen, remember that there are plenty of other mortal servants to choose from."

Coreen remained for a while in her quaint little apartment after she felt Christina's presence fade away, marvelling at the idiosyncrasies of her former self. This person she had been. The old Coreen Fennel, seemed both alien and ridiculous to her, a person full of the childish remnants left over by a surely misspent youth, far removed from the confident, strong being she had now become.

But what _had_ she become exactly? This unsettling thought rankled somewhere deep within her, something she could neither ignore or resolve, which bothered her more than she cared to think. It had occurred to her that she might be somewhere between life and death, if being a vampire could be considered as being dead. If not, she was maybe between life and un-life, or un-death, she thought to herself, new theories spinning confusing webs in her brain in mere milliseconds.

She shook her head roughly – this endless introspection wasn't helping, and she didn't have time to sit and speculate; she had a job to do, and not an easy one at that. Capturing Vicki would take serious planning as well as careful thought, but she was absolutely determined to succeed; after all, who better to capture Vicki than poor, weak little Coreen?

Her gaze snapped to the window as a car rattled to a halt next to the sidewalk outside, squeaking noisily as the brakes strained to keep it still. She leapt to a small window looking out onto the courtyard at the front of the building to see Vicki striding briskly and purposefully, baton glinting in the light, towards her and instantly panicked. How the hell could she explain this? The footsteps grew louder on the stairs as her thoughts became increasingly erratic, frightened of blowing her cover and failing her task. She wasn't ready yet, she hadn't had the time to plan, to think and play on Vicki's weaknesses, so she did the only thing she could do quickly as the door swung open – she hid.

Yet more small splinters of wood fell onto the thin carpet as the strong beam of a flashlight edged into the room unashamedly, Vicki following soon behind it. She breathed deeply, attempting to keep herself somewhat calm as she looked around the lounge she had just burst into, roughly deciphering the colourless shapes of a table and chairs, as well as a small couch, in the darkened room. She flicked a switch on the wall and the bulb burst into flames, illuminating the seemingly empty room for a split second as she shielded herself from the explosion of glass.

"Lack of light – just what I needed," she whispered to herself quietly as she turned into the bedroom.

As she turned away, a dark figure rose from behind the kitchen counter – Coreen had been waiting, a glass snowglobe clasped tightly in her hand, for Vicki to move on; soundlessly, she crept behind her friend, feeling the self-satisfaction of her simplified idea rush through her like adrenaline. She watched, predatory, as Vicki entered the darkness of the bedroom and almost hesitated, waiting for the perfect moment, until she realised that the PI was totally unaware of her presence. Before Vicki even thought of turning back towards the other rooms, Coreen lifted the glittering snowglobe and smashed it, with quite severe force, on the back of her head. Vicki cried out in agony as she fell to the floor among sparkling, cold water and a thousand pieces of shattered glass, her head throbbing with intense, nauseating pain. She tried to move her arms, her legs – anything, but found them weak and useless, only anchoring her to the floor further. The room swayed and blurred around her as she resigned herself, despairingly, to whatever fate awaited her, promising herself that, if she ever did wake up, whoever had done this would pay. With that thought firmly planted in her mind, she somehow commandeered her last ounce of strength and raised her heavy, bleeding head a small way off the ground, rolling her eyes upward to see her attacker.

Coreen looked right back with a steely, yet somehow quite curious stare, sapping the last little bit of mental strength Vicki had accrued with a single look. With that last sinking, stabbing disappointment, she let her head fall back down to the floor and succumbed to the darkness awaiting her with open arms, knowing it would be foolish to resist.

"Huh," Coreen said to herself, breaking the silence she had created as Vicki lay slumped, bleeding and motionless on the floor before her. "Didn't think it would be that easy…"


	5. Reconciling the Past

Night fell, once again, atop the busy city of Toronto as Henry quickly made his way from his faithful jet plane to a slick, black car with tinted windows, guarded by a slightly burly, yet smartly dressed chauffeur.

"Good evening, Mr Fitzroy," he said politely as Henry climbed in briskly, unaware of the acute tension playing along the chauffer's jaw as he smiled through gritted teeth. The vampire nodded, with a centuries-old superiority, saying nothing as the door was closed softly for him.

The driver sat in his seat carefully, taking a little time to readjust his mirrors, as well as the position of his cap, with a wry, but amiable smile. "Where to, sir?"

"Downtown please – Wellesley Street," Henry commanded, allowing himself to become more comfortable in the soft, leather seats of the car.

The driver nodded in acknowledgement, bringing the engine to life with a low purring noise as Henry reclined further in his seat, running an agitated hand through his already tousled brown hair. The material relaxed around the contours of his stiff body as he tried to assimilate some sort of plan for roughly the third or fourth time that evening, his mind buzzing noisily with horrifying possibilities, each one seeming more likely than the last. Imagine – Vicki dead, or hurt; Coreen hurt, or even turned…he shuddered involuntarily. The worst thing about this entire situation was the lack of predictability, of consistently feeling that your enemy is two steps ahead of you. The frustration of knowing nothing was almost too much to bear after everything that had happened just a few short months before. The irony of retrospect was not lost on the vampire – time always goes more quickly in the past, and painfully slow in the present, whether you're immortal or not.

He caught the driver's eye in the rear view, noticing a somewhat unnatural interest all of a sudden, though he quickly looked away, as if there was too much to be given away in just one prolonged stare.

"Have I met you before somewhere?" Henry asked, perplexed, as a faint chord of recognition echoed somewhere in his old mind.

The driver volunteered no answer as they sped through the urban sprawl more rapidly, heading mostly around the city itself as they skimmed the city limits. Something about what the vampire said had clearly agitated him – Henry felt waves of anxiety emanating from his unusually terse chauffeur, and a faint, yet pungent sense of dislike and disgust seemed to hover in the air.

"Pull over please," Henry commanded, aware more than ever of the fact that time was truly against him. "I'll walk. Thank you."

Once again, the driver neglected to comply, but responded instead by locking all doors in the car with a menacing flip of a switch. Henry leaned forward, alarmed and unwilling to find himself at another's mercy, least of all with a human. His eyes clouded, now pitch black with fury, as his senses began to work overtime.

This was no human. There was no warmth from him, no heartbeat or smell of humanity, only…something much older. Something different, but familiar from somewhere at least. He couldn't quite understand how he'd missed it in the first place, as it seemed so blaringly obvious now; the ancient aura of this thing hung thickly in the air, penetrating Henry with a sense of intense forboding.

"What are you?" He growled, anger lacing every syllable he uttered.

"Now you're asking the right question," the driver replied in a deep, hoarse voice. "To put this simply – I am the original."

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Henry replied, his patience wearing thinner and thinner by the second.

The chauffeur laughed dryly. "I suppose age can dull even the highly astute brain of a vampire, Fitzroy. Perhaps I should show you," he replied, slowing the card to a halt as they pulled into a stony yard outside an old fashioned, barely stable industrial building, somewhere on the outskirts of town. He casually tossed his smart, brushed cap onto the passenger seat behind him as, with a swift look into the endless darkness of the vampires eyes in the rear-view mirror, he took a deep breath. The pain he felt next would never be communicated to another, and he must focus to keep it suppressed in the presence of a creature so much lower down the unwritten hierarchy of the underworld; it started with his skin, which began to shrink around his bones as it turned paler, the colour draining from the rosy human-like cheeks with alarming rapidity. The creature grimaced, and as he did so his teeth seemed to both lengthen and sharpen simultaneously, the irises of his eyes filling with an intense blood-red that burned through Henry's pure, black eyes and seemed to reach right through to the back of his skull.

There was nothing Henry could do now but wait for the inevitable, helpless to do anything as the creature's transformation continued, and the sick, strangely human knotted feeling in his stomach prepared him for the worst – he knew enough about the Nosferatu to know that there was no point in angering or fighting against one so old that he could physically change into another creature at will. He had never met one as old as this before; he had seen a couple in his five long centuries that could mask themselves to humans with acute psychic manipulation, but never one that could actually change his physical appearance entirely.

No, he decided, maintaining a fierce and unbreaking stare with the elder creature in charge; he would not fight right now – he would wait for the right moment to strike, and he would find a way to make that strike impossible to survive.

* * *

Four pairs of gnarled, ancient hands gripped Vicki's body as they carried her to her resting place in silence, supervised by the mistress' servant, who looked on in interest as she noticed her prey slowly returning to a painful consciousness.

For Vicki, there was nothing but pain; blinding, writhing, endless pain rushing through her body in continuous waves, her vision blurred and wavering even through the glasses her attackers had so kindly left for her. Darkness, dust, pain and betrayal filled her aching mind as she was carried deeper into the unknown, and she became increasingly desperate to see the light at the end of the dank and despairing tunnel.

No respite came as she was thrust, unceremoniously, onto a hard stone tablet amongst a thin sheet of moonlight, as the pale, hideous creatures she knew even through blurred eyes scurried off into the darkness. Silence buried her in the desolate prison, keeping her six feet below salvation and in the ether, the grey, hazy area between life and death. The place where nothing and yet everything is real, and possible, where monsters masquerade as humans and humans as monsters; how she hated being part of this insane, masked ball where nothing would ever be as it seemed, and where friends could be usurped and devoured by evil things beyond her control.

Everything seemed beyond her control now; she couldn't move her legs, though her fingers twitched responsively as she tried, and her arms were stuck resolutely to her sides. She didn't dare move her head for the intense pain it would release, and was forced to deal with her limited peripheral vision in the darkness. If there was one situation she doubted coming out of, it was this.

The smell of the human she loathed pulled Christina from her preparations abruptly as she pulled on her stylish boots in the candlelight, casually brushing off the greying dust as she zipped them swiftly to her ankle. She couldn't help but smile at the simplicity of it all; her enemy, captured by her friend and brought to her in less than twenty four hours – her plan could not be running more smoothly if she tried. She walked gracefully through the creaking, decaying building, ignoring the reverant bowing of heads as she passed whilst she enjoyed the scent of her least favourite human, bloody and in captivity. A rising tide of burning anger threatened to overturn her well-planned denouement as she thought back to their last encounter, as the PI fought her off with sarcasm and a dangling, deadly sun hanging from a golden chain. She remembered the fury written in deep lines across Henry's face as he threw her up against the wall, and could not forget the thrill of danger, the excitement of violence that shocked through her at his impassioned, deadly grip around her neck; years had passed, after they had taken separate paths, before she felt that from any other creature. Alexander had been an experiment gone wrong, an attempt to instil an undying love in a vampire who couldn't even bear to like himself – in short, a grave mistake. She was tired of bowing, as she always did, to the unwanted emotions that others seemed to force onto her hardened body, as her heart had hardened to a point where she felt it could simply take no more heartache. Finally, she came to the basement, where a single fold of moonlight fell limply into the room across her body as she looked across to her captive, once again repressing the sickly bubble of premature, overbearing rage that threatened to rip the PI to pieces in a matter of seconds.

"Comfortable?" she asked Vicki as Coreen stood and bowed her head with respect. "I don't imagine you would be, but that is the point of all this, I suppose…"

"What…what is the point?" Vicki asked weakly, forcing her mouth to move despite the rush of pain it caused. Some pain, she reasoned, was more than worth it. "Why didn't you just kill me when you had the chance?"

Christina walked closer to Vicki now, causing her to flinch a little with fear as she towered, pale and beautiful, like a statue of an angered and powerful deity over her. "This isn't about you – well, not totally, anyway. This whole thing, this _unfortunate_ situation you seem to have been dragged into, is really too complex for your simple, human mind to understand."

Her captor's almost sympathetic smile filled her with revulsion as, through gritted teeth and throbbing pain Vicki spat two simple, rebellious words: "Try me."

Christina couldn't quite figure out whether she should have been offended or surprised by her prisoner's response, looking at the bloodied human up and down with interest. She had often wondered why Henry would choose to love someone like this, as he obviously did; Vicki was so mouthy, so argumentative and willing to contradict – not to mention the fact that she far outshone the PI in the beauty department. Perhaps it was the passion she displayed, her stubbornness and unwillingness to give up, even though the odds were stacked well against her survival; passion was something that neither she nor Henry lacked, not even today, though it now presented itself in an entirely different way.

It was life or death, and Vicki didn't quite seem to believe it. She wondered what it would take to make her truly afraid, to question whether she would come out of all this alive and, most importantly, to ensure she realised that Henry and her would leave each other, one way or another.

"Coreen, leave us," she said sharply, a coldness spreading through her expression that struck a deep, primal alertness deep in Vicki's consciousness. "I think it's about time that Vicki and I had a heart to heart…"

As always, Coreen duly followed her mistress' orders, exiting the room with haste but also with a burning curiosity as to what would actually happen in that darkened room so deep below the world above. She hurried up the dusty staircase, leaving clouds of ground, powdered cement and dirt behind her as she wondered where she should go; Christina had given her no specific orders, being too carried away with her current prized possession, so she chose instead to 'guard' the perimeter, walking casually in the cool darkness as she waited to be commandeered by her illustrious puppeteer.

The vampire was hungry, she knew that much, and Christina had not fed yet that evening, being so preoccupied with Vicki's arrival and all. The desire to forget whatever plan was in place and rip Vicki's throat out, burrowing deep into her flesh without a thought as the blood flowed thick, fast and unimaginably sweet, satisfying the intense hunger for both blood and violence, coursed through Coreen's very being, causing her to stop on her previously casual stroll to grab her stomach in pain. The vivid, bloody montage she had seen in her head filled her with nausea as Vicki's dead, grey eyes stared helplessly at her, the same glassy eyes that had looked up at her amongst the glass littering the floor just a day ago. A strange feeling seemed to bubble up within her, something plummeting her spirit down by several stories at once, causing a tightness in her chest that seemed strangely human, given the circumstances – was she feeling guilt?

Everything seemed to have gone so quickly; the past forty-eight hours had flown by in seconds, and it seemed only a moment ago that she left her apartment for the Underground on that night, enjoying the warmth and company of her friends basking in the subterranean darkness of that heated hollow, and she wondered if there was something she could have done to be more careful. Christina's influence was beginning to wane, and the connection between Coreen and her mistress weakened slightly every time she thought of how her actions had impacted those closest to her. Guilt, she learned at this moment, could be used to strengthen her resolve – she focused on her friends, on Vicki lying there, alone in that dangerous cellar with who would undoubtedly be her killer, when the time came, and a sort of determination began to seep into her blood, shivering along her skin as she desperately tried to think of some way to release her friend.

She walked briskly to a darkened corner of the old, crumbling red-brick building and crouched near the floor, her head in her hands as she tried to think of some way out. She knew that Henry was out of the question – she didn't have his number, and even if Vicki did it'd be a little too late by now. The only person left, the one person equipped with the drive and desire to save her, was the one she felt was the least likely to help given the circumstances; but as little as the chances were, it was worth a try.

She walked, head held high as if her posture was maintained by purpose alone, to the lone black car parked in the stony car park, where a bright white, younger Nosferatu stood resolutely by the driver's seat, looking around suspiciously. He spotted Coreen from a fair distance away, straightening up as he watched her slight form stride confidently towards him. He marvelled at how their mistress' blood had instilled such power in a human, yet he was revulsed at the same time; normally their kind didn't even associate with vampires, considering them to be dilutions of their original bloodline as a result of fraternising with desperate humans, so to consider sharing their blood with a human just for the sake of a link between the two creatures seemed almost like an insult to their entire race. Nosferatu are strong, he was always told, because their bloodline is pure – he was taught of their heritage, of a bloodthirsty clan of spirits made corporeal with one simple spell from a powerful sorceror, and was proud to know that the spirits, his ancient and venerable ancestors, had come from hell itself. None of them had a birth; they simply appeared, fully formed and desperate for the human blood running rivers around them, from the firey portals of hell. Their origins, more than anything else, made them some of the most revered and feared creatures in the world, a sphere of influence that this particular member of the species had enjoyed to great effect.

"I need this car," Coreen said calmly, looking the creature directly in his glaring, crimson eyes as he stared defiantly back at her, weighing her up. She felt as though he were scanning her with his eyes, searching for lies and deception beneath the confident exterior as he tried to make her as uncomfortable as possible.

"What for?" he replied, still undecided as to whether she was telling the honest truth.

Coreen glowered at him, attempting to emulate the anger she had seen once in Christina's eyes as she smouldered in the darkness. "Does my mistress need to advise you of her plans, servant?" she asked disdainfully. "Leave me with the car now so I can follow her orders, or you'll face the consequences yourself."

"And if you're not telling me the truth, I shall face worse consequences," he reasoned with her. "I will ask her permission first – "

"Sure, great idea," she replied with incredulous sarcasm. "I'm sure she won't mind being interrupted whilst she's dealing with the prisoner she has waited too long to capture. _Especially_ if she's feeding at the moment – I know she's not fed so far tonight, but I'm sure she won't mind being interrupted..."

"Okay, take it," he said quickly, suddenly seeming distracted from his questioning as he threw Coreen the keys and strode off fluidly towards the dark, shadow-filled interior of the abandoned building.

She caught the keys with surprise, not expecting his further questioning to be over so quickly after he had been so insistent, but tried to remain focused on the task in hand – after all, there was simply no time to spend speculating upon the course of action of a being she knew nothing about. Slamming the door with unprecedented force due to her intensified strength that still lingered within her, she revved the engine and sped off to gather forces for Vicki's rescue, tyres throwing up a cloud of dust, dirt and small stones behind her as she drove fearlessly, determined to make amends.

* * *

Henry looked around the crumbling, half-destroyed room he had been hauled into a short while ago with disdain, and a certain level of fear threatened to send his senses into overload as he watched the tall, disfigured silhouettes of the Nosferatu guarding him pacing the entrance to the room. His arms ached a little, having been bound in shackles just above his head, and he continued to wriggle desperately, trying to release himself. He could feel Christina's anger, her excitement and, if he was interpreting it right, a sense of slight melancholy, and didn't wish to even think what she was doing to Vicki. He could certainly sense her fear as he struggled for release in the normally desolate building, causing him to struggle against his heavy shackles further in sheer desperation to tear them away from the wall – and there would be a fair few other creatures torn to pieces in his way to save her, including Christina.

The one person that had eluded his fine, vampiric senses was Coreen, and he usually found her fairly easy to spot from a distance; he had no idea of what impact Christina's blood could have had on her, and certainly had never heard of the type of problem Vicki described to him. He couldn't imagine, firstly, what his sire would want with a broken girl – it was obvious to him that she was weakened after her possession by Astaroth – and why she would take the steps to turn her but not actually do it. He had never heard of a creature between human and vampire; if he was honest, the idea intrigued his old mind in theory. It was rare that he came across anything he had not seen somewhere before these days.

"Let me out of these things!" he shouted to the Nosferatu who steadily paced to and fro across the doorframe, this being around the third or fourth time he had tried. "Whatever you've agreed with her, she'll never stick to it!"

Still, no answer came, and he felt as though he must now resort to desperate measures, finding an angle of persuasion he had used to great effect before, though in vastly different circumstances: "Whatever she's paying you to do this, I'll double it – no, wait, I'll triple it!"

This was more than enough to rile one of the stoic creatures, who stormed into the room haughtily, throwing a punch across the vampires face that sent his head spinning wildly with bright, intense pain.

"Quiet, you pathetic blood-destroyer," he snarled, bright red eyes glowing angrily in the dark. "We do not care about money, or possessions; that is a desire attributed to your pathetic human ancestors, and the humans you insist on protecting and influencing. You digust me, half-breed." It was not difficult to see the revulsion on the creature's face, his words becoming expressions playing about his countenance like clouds converging before a violent storm.

"Then what the hell could cause you to work for a vampire?" he asked through a small pool of blood collecting in his mouth as he spoke.

"We do not work for anyone, vampire."

"That's clearly not what she thinks –" the creature threw a casual punch, once again, that cracked into the musty air of the room like a whip.

"Your vampire does not think about anything outside of her own plans. She does not know how to think of others. You will find that this will be her downfall." The creature smiled, a fanged, pointed and intimidating smile Henry did not wish to see again. "Now be quiet, or your death will be as painful as hers."

The guard walked away, tall and proud, the bones of his spine lifting and falling with every graceful, measured movement he made away from the helpless vampire. Henry knew now that there was no reasoning with them, that he would somehow have to fight his way out as he normally did, unable to form even one tiny bond of mutual trust with a species entirely disgusted with and suspicious about him. He wondered what the hell Christina had told them to get them on her side, and was even more worried to think of the repercussions this could have on Vicki and Coreen; he mentally kicked himself for having ever considered leaving them, finally realising the importance of human friendship, kindness and love, no matter how fleeting. He had thought he couldn't stand the idea of Vicki dying so much, with the immense and soul-breaking volume of consuming love he had for her, that he couldn't have been there to watch it happen, as he feared he would one day have to. Astaroth was bound to kill her one way or another, an inevitability he knew neither of them could escape, and his heart shattered into a thousand bloody pieces every time this eventuality crossed his mind. Throughout over five hundred years he had seen, felt and lived through a lot; death, strife, loneliness and detachment had all threatened to take him away from himself, and his forced love of Christina had caused more pain than he could possibly remember. He vowed now, however, to protect his loved ones, even when that love was not returned; the pain of losing Vicki entirely seemed more important to prevent for as long as possible than the continual, chronic ache of unrequited love.

He pushed his back hard against the red brick wall, feeling crumbs of cement yield to his strong muscles as, with great difficulty, he began to push himself to a crouching position, his arms grateful for a moment of respite as he slowly moved to his preferred position, legs bent stealthily, predator-like beneath him. Neither of the guards paid any attention as he twisted his hands in their iron shackles, feeling the length of the chain to establish a weakness of any kind. His hands followed the rough, slightly rusted metal to the old wall, where the thick head of what he guessed was a masonry nail stuck firmly into the bricks. He smiled, thankful for the incompetence of his captors and, bracing himself by leaning forward, forcefully pushed against the wall with his strong, broad shoulders, attempting to damage the bricks surrounding the nail to bring it loose. He leaned forward again, pulling his hands as far forward as possible as, for the first time since he was thrown into this makeshift prison, he felt the shackles yield their grip to the wall, just slightly.

Repeating this several times, he managed finally to slowly slip the long, iron nail from the bricks, feeling the heavy chains fall slack against his wrists; carefully, he lifted his arms over his head, trying his hardest to make no sound as he did so, before preparing his attack.

He rushed forward, commandeering as much of his strength as possible as he allowed his preternatural speed to pulse through his very body – the Nosferatu whipped round in response as Henry flew the chains one of the guards' drawn, ageless face, causing the creature to fly back against the dull wall in confusion; he then greeted the other with a sharp elbow to the cheek, preventing retalliation with a swift, sharp kick to the skull as it fell, slack and crumpled, to the floor. The other guard's fist, meanwhile, found the vampires stomach, then thrust upwards to his chin with a painful, strong hit that made his jaw shudder in protest. This time it was Henry who fell back, once again feeling the well of vampiric, stolen blood collect in his mouth. He spat, smiling at the creature's anger as it glowed, white hot, across the small and dusty room; the guard lunged again with a lean, sinewy arm as Henry ducked quickly behind him and thew the chain around its neck with violent satisfaction. He eyed the small key the creature had attached to the worn, leather belt it wore loosely around the waist.

"Unlock the cuffs now, and I won't kill you," he said quietly, his voice thick with blood and threats as the creature gasped with pain. "I'm sure you don't value her will above your own life."


	6. Redrawing The Line

"You never answered my question. What _is_ the point of all this, Christina?" Vicki asked, her head still throbbing as she stared, with barefaced courage, into the cold, brown stillness of the vampire's eyes. "You _know_ he'll come for me. You know he'll leave you behind; he always will."

The crack of flesh against her cheek whipped through the dusty air as Christina's slap sent her reeling in the darkness. She smiled through it, despite herself, quickly swallowing a small welt of blood as soon as it entered her mouth – the last thing she wanted to do was give her captor an offer she couldn't refuse.

"He hates you," she continued, attempting to regain Christina's attention as she turned away and took a step towards the door. "It's sad, really – you come all this way for him and he'll send you all the way back with nothing, except with his little gift of heartbreak. You know, if I'd been rejected that many times, I think I'd probably give it up –"

Getting to Christina seemed to have worked more quickly than she had imagined, as she felt the cold squeeze of unnatural flesh on her neck before she even saw it coming. She coughed as Christina pressed her hands more firmly, an unwanted trickle of blood running down the side of her mouth as the vampire's eyes turned to deepest black; Vicki found herself almost lost in a darkness she had seen, but never truly imagined, and the freezing touch of her attacker sent a terrified chill through her body. There was something entirely different about the endless darkness of Christina's eyes; something chaotic, unfathomable and deeply, impenetrably cruel burned like black fire within her, scalding Vicki with a fear that she felt she could never escape. Words escaped her as she coughed, a few drops of blood now adorning the vampire's pristine, porcelain skin as more trickled once again from the corner of her mouth. She tasted the copper sweetness of it as her captor inhaled deeply, arching her back slightly as she continued to hold an iron grip over Vicki's warm, pulsing throat.

Christina closed her eyes as the sharp scent of fresh blood cut through the musty odours of the room like a knife, igniting the hunger and bestial rage she had been trying to suppress. There were times when, despite her age and experience, she was sure there was no way to control herself; times when fury and bloodlust threatened to swallow her whole, when despair and loneliness could no longer be carried as her burden – there were times when she would wish to simply let go, to freefall into madness and chaos and lose the will to care. There had been years, not long after she was turned, that she spent living outside of society, preying on whoever was unlucky enough to cross her path; she hunted, she fed, sometimes bathed in the unhallowed glory of a predatory existence without morals, rules or laws – that is, until the deep depression, the loneliness of a solitary existence pressed it's will upon her and then, she thought, she might as well have been human again. She often longed for the power to forget it all, to indulge herself in the most primal way possible and give herself over to instinctual hedonism, transcending even her own reality.

Now, of course, was not the time. She opened her eyes as hunger clawed within her, revealing deep brown irises that smouldered with anger despite their intense coolness, and loosened her grip slightly – but not enough to allow her prisoner to speak. Not yet.

"You're an idiot to think you have a future with him," Christina said quietly, her tone laced with well-practiced menace as her prey struggled for breath beneath her. "And you're an idiot for thinking I'm wrong when I say that."

She stood back in the pale, waning folds of moonlight as Vicki gasped for air, a wry and knowing smile now playing threateningly on her face.

"Perhaps you think you know him better than I do; perhaps, even, you think he is _not_ a monster. You fancy yourself as the one woman who could change him, the panacea to the horrors of five centuries filled with emptiness, death, sex and blood." She knelt beside Vicki, who instinctively tried to move away; she cried out in pain as a cold hand tilted her head and Christina forced their gazes to meet. "You think you can cure him of me."

"I don't need to," Vicki croaked through bitter pain, losing the will to care if those words were her last. "You did that the day you made him."

Cold, mirthless laughter echoed around them as Christina gripped Vicki's blood-matted hair tightly, causing an intense, unbearable pain to flood down the back of her neck into her battered spine. She shouted out with pain, a high-pitched yelp that was closer to a scream than she would've cared to admit.

"You're right about one thing, detective – I made him what he is today. I know him in ways you never could, I've seen him do things you would never imagine him doing, not even in your wildest dreams or fiercest nightmares." Christina's voice was still quiet, measured, deadly in tone, and Vicki simply listened, her eyes rapt with fear and apprehension as more waves of pain threatened to show her weakness in the vampire's grip. "Henry Fitzroy is, and always has been mine – from beginning to end. This is what you will learn tonight, before sunrise; you will say goodbye to each other for the last time."

"You want him dead?" Vicki asked, her voice faltering in the darkness as she continued to stare into Christina's eyes, unwilling to be the first to break eye contact. "What for? You don't care about territory, not really."

"There are bigger things on my mind than this putrid city, you're right."

"So…you need to move on. You need to get rid of the one thing that keeps getting in your way," she replied, unable to stop her long-held habit of analysing every situation to death, even where her life was at stake. The cogs whirred in her mind as everything began to fit into place. "You'll kill him so you can move on."

She was surprised to see the vampire break eye contact before she did, and made a mental note to congratulate her own stubbornness if she ever did make it out alive. Christina stood over her, towering with anger and authority, bristling with violent anticipation from head to toe.

"You will see," she said coldly as she turned her back on her prisoner, nodding to a servant Nosferatu outside the door as he walked in to guard her. It was imperative for this to end tonight, but her hunger and fury seemed to be getting the better of her.

She strolled into a large, torch-lit room, where a few Nosferatu were hunched in silent servitude, bowing their heads to her as she passed.

"Bring me my servant, the girl," she said loudly to no-one in particular, knowing that immediately someone would obey her orders and do as she commanded. "I need to feed before we begin our final step."

It had seemed like a long while since Coreen had sat in the driver's seat of a car, and she was fairly sure that she had never driven a car as big as the one she sped down the highway in now. Horns blared as she cut across lanes in search of the quickest route, staying dead on the speed limit to try and avoid unnecessary delays with cops.

She laughed at the irony of it; here she was, racing against the sunrise trying to avoid traffic cops, and all to meet _another_ cop who could be the only person in the world who could save Vicki right now. Admittedly, Mike wasn't exactly her first choice for the role of Knight in Shining Armour, but she had absolutely no idea where Henry was these days, a fact that still smarted whenever she thought about it. The anger she felt as he left them behind had never completely faded, just as her disappointment with seeing the only real hero she had ever come across retreat into the shadows was a feeling she was unlikely to forget. Cowardice was a trait she was able to accept, to a certain degree, from most people – she just couldn't accept that a five-hundred year old vampire, a vampire of royal heritage and with a noble mind, would want to up sticks and leave at the first sign of trouble, especially where others could be in danger.

Regardless of Mike's position in the pecking order, he was the best option open to her at this point and, though he hadn't exactly been forthcoming with keeping in touch with her and Vicki after their ordeal, at least he hadn't fled the city without so much as looking back. The night held steady above her as she moved onto smaller roads, moving swiftly along the capillaries that skirted just outside of the city's living, pulsing heart. She pulled the car to a smooth halt outside a block of shabby-looking, suburban apartments and, without stopping to congratulate herself on some excellent driving as she normally would, sprinted for the buzzer.

The sharp, metallic rattling of the buzzer fizzed sickeningly into Mike's consciousness as he lay on his couch, his arm raised behind his head and resting on his tousled, slightly greying hair as the television blared mundanely from across the room. The sound had made his eyes spring wide open and, as he did so, pain seemed to pulse immediately through his head. It'd been another heavy night, though that was all he seemed to have these days; empty bottles of beer littered the floor, and an opened bottle of Scotch stood half-empty next to the couch. He groaned as the buzzer continued its ceaseless noise, every reverberation causing more pounding in his head that he could physically bear. He scratched his ruddy, unshaven face as he attempted to haul himself into a seating position on his lumpy couch in the flickering light of the TV.

"Alright, alright," he conceded. "I'm coming, hold up…"

With some difficulty, and without forgetting his handy bottle of Scotch, he manoeuvred his way across mounting piles of appeals paperwork, takeaway cartons and more empty drinks bottles and grabbed the receiver with annoyance.

"Who is this?" he asked angrily, eager to find out who was bothering him – it'd be good exercise for him to kick someone's ass at least.

"Mike? It's Coreen. Can I come in?"

"Uh, no," he replied matter-of-factly. The last thing he needed was a lecture on optimism. "What's this about? It's just I'm snowed under with, y'know –"

"I'm not playing around Mike," Coreen responded, feeling irritated with his lack of interest. "This is serious. Vicki's in trouble."

It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice on him, restoring almost complete alertness and sobriety in mere seconds. "I'll be right down," he said, rushing for his coat and running down the stairs.

Coreen stood back as her still preternatural hearing detected heavy footsteps rapidly approaching the front door; Mike threw it open quickly as she simply stared back.

"Oh my god, what happened to you?" she said before she could stop herself, noticing the ex-detective's thinning, greying hair and unkempt demeanour as he looked at the floor. She smelled the strong, pungent scent of stale alcohol mingled with tobacco and, without thinking, wrinkled her nose. "Were you smoking? I didn't know that you – "

"I thought this was about Vicki," he pressed, unwilling to be the butt of anyone's criticism. "What is it?"

"She's being held by Christina, at this random disused factory outside of town. There are about a dozen Nosferatu guarding her at this place and I can't get her out on my own. I need your help – Vicki needs your help."

"What about Henry? Where's Mr Super Vamp?"

"We haven't got time for this. He's not here, I'll explain later. We're going to need something to get rid of her little guard, can you help with that?"

"Right, you mean the Nosferatu?" He shook his head with disbelief. "Did he bring his buddy Dracula along as well?" he said, unable to hide the bitter cynicism he had never been good at suppressing.

Coreen returned a steely, deeply unimpressed look as Mike sighed, lifting a hand to his aching head in concession to the madness he was being dragged into.

"Alright, alright," he replied, his voice strained with weariness. " I get it – you're not messing around. What exactly are we dealing with here?"

"Ancient vampires," she said simply, as if this was all part of the normal routine.

"Ancient vampires," Mike muttered to himself. "So, what, regular vampires aren't enough these days?"

"Apparently not," Coreen replied, a slight dissonance in her tone. "You can only really kill them by taking their heads off, or by fire. Would you be able to…well, get some weapons?"

At this point Mike couldn't help but laugh bitterly. "I'm not your inside man anymore – I'm fired, remember? Totally and utterly fired; jobless, badge-less, gun-less. The only gun I've got is my dad's old revolver and the only ammo I still have are those weird silver bullets you gave me. I'm not your man for anything anymore, especially not weapons."

"What about…I don't know, flamethrowers or something?" Coreen replied, eyes wide while Mike shook his head. "Grenades? Molotovs? _An axe?_"

He held his hands up in defeat. "I've got nothing, just like you."

"You don't know _anyone_ who might be able to help?"

Mike shook his head once again, shrugging his shoulders casually.

"Fine. Forget I even came," Coreen sighed angrily, storming off to the car as she instantly began regretting a wasted journey.

"Wait, wait a second!" Mike called after her, jogging a little on tired legs to catch up with Coreen. "I _might_ know a guy. He's not exactly what you'd call above board, but if we need firepower then he might be able to help. Whether he'll speak to me or not…well, we'll have to find that out."

His heart seemed to plummet into his stomach as Coreen looked hopefully back at him, the fear of the darkness he would no doubt face for her and Vicki's sake, yet again, beginning to eat away at the corners of his mind. He wondered what lengths he would have to go to in order to save them this time, and what state his shattered spirit would be in afterwards. Somehow, from somewhere, he at least found the strength to inform Coreen that he would drive, summoning his worn, weary chivalry chipped with apprehension about what lay ahead.

After a short drive through the now empty, cool streets of the city shrouded in darkness, they pulled up outside a shabby looking, grey-brick bar in a neighbourhood Coreen had never even set foot in before. Lights still blazed hazily through the murky glass of the windows on the front underneath a battered sign, which darkly displayed peeling, fading words – 'The Rockin' Horse'. The place had definitely seen better days and, from what she could tell, those days were clearly a long time ago, before hundreds of identical, cheap houses had sprung up around the place.

"You'd better stay in here," Mike said, expression still and heavy. "When I get out, lock the doors and stay down, no matter what. I'll leave the keys with you."

"Sure. Be quick though, 'kay?" she replied, feeling slightly exposed despite the empty quietness of the narrow street. There was something obviously unsavoury about the area, and she wasn't in any hurry to get to know the inhabitants.

Mike nodded as he left the car, pausing for a moment to hear the latches click, and breathed deeply as his mind fell easily back into that of the assertive, no-nonsense tough-guy that had helped him become such a successful cop. He pushed the chipped wood of the door and it opened, creaking noisily into the late night air as he walked into the musty, damp and almost stale smelling bar and headed straight for the bartender.

"Marty!" Mike said cleanly, almost arrogantly, with a smile of well-practised sarcasm. "How's it goin'?"

"What do you want, Celluci?" he replied gruffly, looking back with a slightly leering stare beneath greasy, mouse-brown hair that hung limply across his forehead.

"What, no hug?"

Marty folded his sinewy arms across a grubby, plain white vest and looked on with petulant eyes. "Spit it out. I ain't got all night."

"Where's Kane these days?" he asked quietly, leaning in closer to the bar as he noticed the curious glances of the few regular customers left. "He still come in here?"

"Wish I could help you, detective," the bartender replied flatly, taking the ragged dishcloth from his shoulder and cleaning the old, wooden bar. "He doesn't come in here anymore."

"Really. Well, what if I let you in on a little secret?" Marty glanced up at him, interested. "They don't call me 'detective' anymore."

"That so? In that case, what do you want with him?" His tone was more curious than interrogative as he looked over a man who had clearly fallen from grace.

"I'm looking for some special equipment – something tells me he can help me out. Trust me," Mike said gravely. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't need it. If I was gonna haul him in I'd have at least brought a couple of uniformed kids with me."

"Alright, but I don't know if he'll wanna see you," he sighed, hastily scribbling down an address on the back of a paper coaster. "There you go. Don't tell him I sent you."

Henry pulled the chain of his shackles closer across the creature's neck, almost enjoying the crackling sound of metal tightening around bones as his captive continued to gasp for air.

"I can see the key; unlock me and I'll let you go."

"Okay," the guard rasped through choking pain. "Okay."

He reached for his key with shaking hands and, with a tiny click permeating the dusty air, unlocked the vampire, who immediately pulled the creatures hands behind his back.

"Now, tell me what your plans are, if you want to live to see tomorrow," he growled, eyes turned black in the darkness.

"Such treachery," he spat through a vicious, furious grimace. "I should have known a pathetic, undead creature like yourself is not to be trusted. I won't tell you a thing. Even a guard of my rank holds loyalty as a priority above anything else."

Henry pushed the creature roughly against the wall with frustration. "And what rank is that?"

"I am of the Fifth Generation," he said calmly, unfazed by Henry's aggression. "Those who you seek to destroy are of the Second Generation. You will have some difficulty disrupting their plans, considering they are more than a hundred times stronger than you." He laughed, throat still croaking and cracking under the remembered strain of the vampire's chokehold.

"Tell me what she has planned for Vicki. If you don't, this night will be your last," Henry snarled, tightening his grip as his ancient cousin exhaled, repressing the will to scream with pain.

"You cannot win," he replied. "You haven't the strength. Vampires are all the same; territorial, petty narcissists – none of you ever see the truth of what is around you. Like humans, you see what you want to see. You will come to realise that this is not about our so-called mistress - not entirely, anyway. There is a much greater purpose to this."

"What purpose? You are all her servants!"

"So you think. Tides are turning, vampire, and the dregs of this world will be brought to the surface through the churn of time. We have only time, which we have in abundance."

"Not if I stop you. Not if I kill you," he growled.

"If you kill me, more will rise. They will sweep the Earth; they will overcome you and the parasitic human life you would die to protect," the guard said, now grinning through pointed teeth. "I want you to know that, no matter what, your efforts here are fruitless. We will bleed them all!"

The creature's cry of war, and the subsequent shaking, rattling laughter echoed through the room as Henry continued to hold fast to him. He knew what he should do.

"Savages," Henry muttered through gritted teeth.

With that, he grasped the cool, smooth scalp of his captive and twisted his neck forcefully until it snapped. He breathed deeply as the creature fell to the floor, crumpled and subdued, only just stopping himself from going the whole way and ripping its head off. His anger, he reasoned, would not allow him to reach Vicki any faster, and every moment he would have spent bathing in the smoky after-scent of the kill would only bring her closer to death. He closed his eyes, attuning his hearing to the slightest movement or indication of someone near by as he searched for signs of the monstrous horde that had imprisoned him. He moved, now, slowly and carefully through the dark, dusty corridors, walls sprinkling aged plaster as he edged along them silently, determined to stop the Nosferatu from achieving dominance among the underworld – even if that meant saving someone he had not wanted to protect for a very long time.


	7. Forgotten Freedoms

After a short drive through the very early hours, Mike pulled up to an old, bedraggled block on the way downtown, where those who didn't quite see the world through lucid eyes wandered the lonely streets. He left the car, an increasingly anxious Coreen in tow, and walked behind a desolate Chinese takeaway.

Coreen put a pale, delicate hand over her mouth as the smell of rotting food and used vegetable oil rose from the bins below, lifted into the cold air by plumes of steam pouring out of the busy kitchen. She began to feel a churning, empty feeling in her stomach as she climbed the stairs to the flat above, sensing a sort of strange, insatiable feeling rise within her for which she struggled to find the origin. There was definitely an element of hunger, mixed with intense frustration and anticipation – but for what, exactly?

She had no time to figure out the source of her strange, powerful new emotions as Mike banged with an authoritative fist on the black, wooden door.

"Leave this one to me," he said quietly. "I know how to handle this guy."

"Uh-huh," she replied, her scepticism unusually obvious to both of them. An ominous, familiar sounding clicking sounded from within, just a meter or so behind the thick, panelled door before them. "Did you know he's loading a shotgun?"

Mike looked back at her, puzzled. "How can you know that?"

The door flew open as a lean, dark haired man looked at them suspiciously over the barrel of a long, old-fashioned shotgun. Instinctively, Mike pulled Coreen quickly behind him as she muttered under her breath: "I did warn you."

"What the hell do you want, Celluci?" he rasped, his voice gruff and aggressive as he stared at them angrily. "Put your damn hands where I can see 'em."

Mike lifted his hands up slowly as he maintained eye contact, wishing, at this point, that he had thought of a slightly better plan.

"I'm not here on police business, Kane," he said quietly, as his adversary twitched slightly behind the cold steel barrel of the gun.

"Then why the fuck are you here? And who's the girl?"

"She's just an associate – not a cop."

Kane lowered the gun a little at this as he surveyed them both with dark eyes, glinting with mistrust in the darkness.

"What do you want?"

"I need a piece," Mike replied simply. "But not the regular type you usually peddle. I heard you have an…eclectic collection for those willing to give a little extra."

He smirked at this. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into; and how do I know you got the extra to pay? You don't even know what I'm looking for."

"Well then, I guess you're just going to have to trust me."

Coreen's impatience began to get the better of her. "We don't have time to mess around," she said with a menacing, quiet and measured tone that took both men by surprise.

Kane sniffed the air inquisitively as a gust of wind blew from behind his visitors, a bloody, yet sweetly human scent filling his senses that provoked an unusual curiosity deep within him. There was something odd about Celluci's companion – something that wore the mask of human but was much, much more than that. Beneath his new curiosity lay a bedrock of suspicion and foreboding, as well as the memory of an ancient enemy, and he raised his gun once again in response to this, changing his emphasis from Mike to Coreen.

"I'm not letting you in until you tell me what you are, girl," he snarled, renewing his grip on the cold, wooden handle of the shotgun as it dug into his chest.

At that precise moment, something within her snapped as an alien and intense rage, borne out of hunger and impatience, overcame her completely. She rushed at him, causing him to fall blindly backwards through his own front door – he didn't expect her speed or strength as the gun fell from his hands and she crouched neatly on top of him, digging her knees up against his ribcage as he barked and hissed in protest.

Mike dashed in behind them, stunned with disbelief as he saw the man that had, countless times, caused his squad of fairly tough cops a great amount of physical trouble, incapacitated by his young friend who had, until now, shown herself to be completely harmless.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" he asked, still not quite registering the scene in front of him.

"I'm fine," Coreen replied distantly, her eyes not moving from the twisted expressions on her captive's face as she found new, minute ways to introduce fresh new pain. "Now, tell us where your weapons are."

He growled at her, mouth snarling in protest. "Why don't you tell me what you are first, sweetness?" he asked, remaining defiant.

Another small, sharp movement from Coreen made him scream with agony as he squirmed underneath her powerful, unusual grip. Before she could help herself, a faint smile crept across her face as Kane's eyes widened with panic and terror.

"I asked first," she replied, her voice a rather dangerous shade of gentleness that held only thinly veiled threats of violence.

"D-downstairs," he gasped. He looked back at his aggressor, expecting some sort of relief for his final display of subservience, but received only a fairly impassive expression, with a slightly raised eyebrow in return.

"You need to be more specific than that," she said as he grimaced, once again, in pain.

"Alright; behind the black curtain, then through the door. The key's underneath a cardboard box to the right of the door. Take whatever you want."

At this, she finally released her knees as Kane cried out in agony one last time, and turned her strong, powerful eyes, filled with uncommon darkness to Mike, who had watched the entire spectacle quite speechlessly.

"Get the best thing he's got," she commanded in urgent tones. "Decapitation and fire are pretty much the only things that work."

He knew better than to waste time asking questions; bewildered, confused and just a little concerned, he descended the stairs, unwilling to test the extent of Coreen's newfound impatience.

Coreen stayed firmly on top of her victim as he gulped for air, refusing to look directly into the still darkness of his captor's eyes out of reluctance to show any more fear than he had already. He looked away, still none the wiser as to what she was or where the hell she had come from, but knew it was something he would not soon forget.

Sensing Kane's weakness as he looked away, Coreen bent almost seductively down to his ear as Mike's heavy soled shoes began to tread the creaking wooden staircase; his fear, puzzlement and surprise were easily felt by her as his breathing began to return to normal and, as Mike got ever closer, she whispered one last retort: "Good dog."

The smell of Vicki's spilled blood aroused his senses to new levels as Henry sniffed at the dark, frozen air hungrily, continuing his search for her. He could feel his sire's anger, her glorious rage bubbling somewhere beneath her breast mingled with a sense of deepest despair and, unusually for her at least, a hint of fear.

He tried to block out these alien emotions, as well as the sick feeling he got in the very pit of his stomach whenever she was near, as they descended like a thick haze upon him whilst he shimmied along crumbling walls and dashed silently through the shadows. As soon as he had learned the Nosferatu were involved he knew things were even more seriously than he had initially anticipated; it was completely uncharacteristic of Christina to ask for help, and very unlike the shadowy, secretive Nosferatu to offer it – though now, of course, he was beginning to understand their ulterior motive.

Her scent grew stronger, more defined and alluring to him as he descended through the old building further, quickly and quietly. The familiar feeling of his sire's closeness washed over him in an almost sickly wave of love, passion and anger.

Christina's gaze whipped round to the staircase behind her as she crouched over Vicki's bloodied, bruised body, eyes filled with deep, cold and black fire which struck genuine fear into Vicki's heart.

The PI, however, immediately knew something was wrong; it wasn't the way she so quickly spun around to look behind her, but rather the movement in her body as she simultaneously backed off, moving fluidly away from her as if in fear. She was sure she could sense something just beyond the room, a cold familiarity echoing vaguely somewhere in her mind.

Christina looked back to her prey, her dark curls falling heavily around her face as she held an expression of mild discontent, disguised somewhat by the most hesitant smile she had displayed since Vicki had known her. She could feel Henry's presence now, he wasn't far away – her passion for him ignited as she inhaled deeply, her sorrow and, strangely, nervousness rising within her as she anticipated the vision of him storming to her, speaking to her, imagining his proximity to her as their passion sparked with every touch.

"He's here, isn't he?" Vicki croaked, noticing the vampire's sudden loss of focus. "And you won't be able to do it. You could just leave now, you don't have to do this."

"It's funny to hear just how little you understand – how your mortal existence blinkers you to what really matters," she answered, a more familiar dark, half-smile forming as she spoke. "Never mind. If there is any life for you beyond this world, you may one day come to understand."

Vicki glared back with defiant eyes. "You won't kill me. He won't let you."

At this, Christina looked directly at Vicki with hungry, deadly eyes, which turned to deepest black, the change visible even in the darkness. She widened her smile slightly, revealing long, sharp fangs behind pale lips as Vicki shrunk back underneath her; without another word, she fell violently upon the PI's neck.

Vicki cried out in pain as she felt the sickening tearing of skin at her neck, each beat of her pulse spilling life out of her as he breath began to rattle through her body with each pained exhalation. Time seemed to slip away from her as Christina drank her fill and, to her, hours had passed before the stabbing and tearing had truly passed; Henry, hearing the scream of his loved one loud and clear, rushed in to save her, adrenaline and new-found rage sweeping across him as he dashed into the chamber with preternatural speed and seemingly unassailable anger.

Christina had no time to look behind her; she only felt the cold, strong grip of her childe on her scalp as he threw her across the room with pure fury. He looked on Vicki with fear and sympathy, his hand caressing the soft warmth of her cheek as she smiled weakly back at him, unable to see him clearly but familiar enough with his loving, gentle touch to recognise his presence. His eyes lingered on the black, viscous blood seeping from two noticeable untidy puncture marks on her neck as the sweet, heady scent of her spilled life ignited further flames of anger in him.

"I'm sorry, Vicki. She pay for this," he said mournfully, cupping his cold, sturdy hand around her face. "You have to hold on, for me."

"I'm fine," she breathed rather unconvincingly in reply, the room swaying darkly around her. "You need to forget about her, it's a trap – she'll kill us both as soon as she gets the chance."

Christina lifted herself up from the rubble-covered floor slowly, using one hand to gently massage the back of her head.

"She's right, for once," she said smartly, brushing herself off as she adjusted the line of her crisp suit, which now appeared slightly crumpled and dusty along the edges. "You know there's no use in fighting me, Henry. You caught me by surprise before but under…ordinary circumstances, I'm twice as fast and strong as you."

"But clearly only half as perceptive. You have no idea what's really going on here, do you?" Henry replied, now standing beside a weakening Vicki as he faced his sire, and former lover, with cold, remorseless anger; but still, something rational within him – a sense of reason, a strange loyalty and a duty to protect those unable to protect themselves – anchored him to his long-held nobility. "They're using you, just as you've used them. You're so blinded by your obsession that you don't even realise their true intentions. All they want to do is take over this city – _my_ city," he added emphatically. "Once you get me out of the way, they won't need to worry about me protecting you; then they'll take you out of the equation and have free rein of the city."

Christina smirked at the apparent absurdity of the situation. "Are you saying you want to protect me?" she replied, incredulous. "You can't even stand to be near me."

"He's not the only one," Vicki retorted bitterly, her voice still weary as she lay, drained and weak, between the two vampires. "Just listen to him, you know he's telling the truth."

"I know he is," she replied, somewhat gently as Henry stared back with hateful eyes. "I know he can't help but want me, even after everything, which is why he wants to protect me. Even when my very presence stirs up that killer instinct I know so well, I know he's dying for the closeness we lost centuries ago – I know it because I feel it too, and I can't stand knowing that I can't have you, Henry Fitzroy. I can't take the human-like heartache I feel when you leave me, or when I leave you; so you understand why I've done this. I need freedom. You took my freedom from me when you glanced at me, for the first time, all those years ago; when you smiled with your innocent, youthful happiness and bade me good night. You brought this on yourself."

"I took nothing from you. You – you took everything from me!"

"And gave you a life like no other! Tell me you don't enjoy it, Henry. Tell me you hate this life I've given you, and I'll believe you."

He had no time to respond to Christina's questioning – before he even felt it, a dozen Nosferatu streamed into the room; some grabbed his sire round the waist and by the arms as she struggled, gnashing her teeth and growling with fury at their betrayal. Henry tried his hardest to fight them off once again, but four of them against one of him was just too many for even his preternatural strength and speed to cope with. He spluttered as they punched him squarely in the stomach, winding him as he gasped for breath, strong hands holding him fast against the stone wall. The rattling of chains was heard as bright, thick steel shackles were tied around heavy lead pipes snaking across the ceiling, one for each of the vampires, as the guard who Henry had so mercifully left alive approached him, a self-satisfied smirk reaching horribly around the taut skin of his face as he looked the vampire directly in the eye.

"I did warn you," he snarled gleefully. "You cannot win."

Before Henry could retort, a strong, bony hand whipped across his face and, though he refused to shout out in pain through sheer stubbornness, he was almost surprised to hear Christina's cry of anguish as she saw them beat him further. All he could think of was Vicki who was still lying on the floor through all this, weakened and growing colder as time wore on. He caught her looking at him, pleading with him to help her as the blows continued across his face and torso, Christina growing increasingly anxious until the guards eventually locked her hands in strong shackles, her arms stretched helplessly as one swift blow to the stomach subdued her.

Henry too was strung up alongside his sire, battered and bruised, his mind beginning to sway with hunger and exhaustion as the Nosferatu looked on with derision.

"What about the human?" one of them asked as Vicki began to sway in and out of consciousness. "She should be the first – "

"No," Henry's guard replied instantly. "We do not finish one previously touched by something as inferior as a vampire – what are you, a vulture?" His eyes glowed angrily, their crimson irises inflamed with fury in the darkness.

"Yes, of course. But what do we do with her?" He replied, clearly fighting a hunger in his younger, subservient eyes.

"We leave her to die. She is not important. You will stay here and ensure our pathetic descendants do not escape whilst I bring our leader here. It will not take long."

He nodded as his superior left the room, standing at the doorway as he swallowed dryly. He smelled the blood so clearly as it intoxicated him deeply, though he feared what would occur if he did not follow his superior's instructions. He took a deep breath, standing tall and straight as he did so, and kept a watchful eye on the prisoners, eager for the moment of glory he had anticipated for a long time.

"I told you they weren't interested in your petty ends," Henry muttered through gritted, bloodied teeth. "You wouldn't listen, and now I have no idea how we'll get out of this. If you've killed Coreen, I'll make sure you don't get out of this."

Christina said nothing, her eyes still black and incensed with fury as she contemplated their dire situation. He was right – it did seem entirely hopeless. She no longer had any influence over the Nosferatu's actions, and they would both surely die at the hands of the eldest of their kind. A sort of sick feeling knotted in her stomach as she contemplated the actual end of her life with great fear, desperately trying to work out some plan of escape. It was difficult to admit that there was nothing she could do now but wait for the inevitable, something she had never done even in all her years of being a vampire. She was used to being in control of the situation, a master manipulator of humans and demons alike, and yet here she was, the victim of her own plans for revenge.

"I didn't kill her," she replied finally. "I simply…shared my power with her. She seems to have absconded, though I'm not sure how she could have done that."

"You turned her?" he asked, anger rising in his tone.

"Not quite. She was more of an experiment than anything else but, when all's said and done, she was merely a means to an end."

"Will she be connected to you permanently?"

"Well," she smiled vaguely. "We'll have to wait and see. You know, I should have killed you when I had the chance, all those years ago." She sighed, a strange sadness overcoming her as she mourned for the hundreds of years she had lost to that emptiness he had caused her to feel ever since the day he had to leave her. "You've ruined me, Henry. My life was so simple before you walked into it; and now, I'll die without having even so much as my freedom."

"I don't hate the life you've given me – it's you that I can't stand," he replied, remembering her earlier question as a sharp bitterness undercut the simple honesty of his words. "At least if I have to die here, you'll die too."

"…as will Vicki. I always knew your mistakes would kill her, one way or another. Every one of your little playthings has met their horrible end because of you. I suppose," she probed further, "You get bored after a while. I remember the real you, Henry. You're not capable of true human emotions like love; though you are adept at showing hunger, lust and a thirst for blood that envies that of any human warmonger."

"Things have changed. Since we parted, I've realised things don't have to be that way. It's possible for me to love, but you can't. You've outgrown your own humanity, and I pity you."

"Don't," she smiled. "Life is easier without emotions clouding my judgment. I think I did love you once, but all I have now is this dull ache, this yearn for you that I can't explain. I hate it."

"Move on," Henry hissed. "I can't love you, Christina. I love Vicki."

"Yes, yes," she replied dismissively. "I know; but does she love you? Can she thrill you like I do – can she make even an immortal life exciting?"

"More so than you, though you'll never understand how."

"I suppose you're right. Ah well, it's too late for regret now," she said ominously. "Death approaches. For what it's worth Henry, my love, I would have killed you first. You wouldn't have suffered more than so."

"And that's supposed to comfort me?" he snarled. "If I ever see you again, if we survive this, I _will_ kill you. That's not a threat; it's a promise."

"Of course," she laughed bitterly. "I promise to return the favour."


	8. Hidden Depths

A deep chill began to spread, vine-like, across Vicki's aching spine as she lay helpless on the floor, her fading hearing the only real sense that hadn't completely shut itself down. The incessant rattling and banging of chains scraped noisily through her mind as her head pounded with sickening intensity. The only warmth she felt was the lukewarm trickle of blood at her neck; she slowly raised a weakening hand to the vicious bites, her fingers lingering on the cold edge of each small would as anger and desperation burned within her. The familiar stubbornness and determination to survive she had developed over the years seemed to be making a return at the worst possible time, exacerbating the frustration she held over her practically paralysed body, her mind willing her, screaming at her to get up as she lay motionless on cold grit and hard rubble.

"Henry?" she croaked into the enveloping darkness hopefully. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he replied unconvincingly. "It'll be alright – I need you to hang on, Vicki. Stay awake. You stay with me, and I'll take care of things."

"I wouldn't bother, personally," Christina replied with surprising, brutal nonchalance. "A few more years and you'll end up like the rest of his human companions – dead, forgotten, or both; though, in all honesty, I'd be surprised if you lasted the night as it is."

"We're _all_ going to get out of this," Henry snarled with ill-tempered menace. "Including you, Christina."

"Well, how very noble of you, Your Highness."

"Nobility has nothing to do with it. I want to know that we have a chance to settle this on neutral ground, under the right circumstances. I owe you that, if nothing else."

"Quiet!" the young guard barked impatiently. "Or I'll kill you both myself, no matter what the consequences may be. I've a certain taste for human blood that's wasting over there, so if you value her life above your own I suggest you wait for your death, as we won't kill her."

"Please," Christina smirked. "Be my guest."

The guard did not return her arrogant smile. Oddly, a silence fell upon them all as the distant sound of foreign celebrations cascaded upon them, echoing faintly into the dusty chamber; the catcalls and inhuman utterances knotted tightly in Christina's chest, juxtaposing the cool, calm exterior she held with a burning desire for escape within. She wasn't ready to truly die, to face the unknown fate she had caused for countless others over hundreds of years and, somewhere deep within her, a terrified scream signalled her desperation. She glanced at Henry, who didn't look back, choosing instead to continue struggling fruitlessly against the chains binding him tightly as he watched Vicki with fear, her ever-slowing heart beating pitifully in his ears.

His fury, sadness and frustration were becoming unbearable, eyes blackened in the gloom, reflecting the dim light flowing weakly down the stairwell. The scent of Vicki's blood caused a hunger in him that he fought valiantly, as always, to overcome – something he knew Christina would notice, though he tried his hardest to overshadow his hunger with anger directed at her. He knew, eventually, she would feel it, just as he could feel her desire, her exasperation and secret fear pulse through him, stirring a long-forgotten and deeply suppressed passion – not for her, but for what they had; for the simplicity of 'kill or be killed' and the sheer ecstasy of death. Yet now, death held the false ecstasy of silence, of nothingness, and the long-held beliefs of a spiritual life after death seemed to fade into a vapour of fear and regret as the finality of the situation dawned on him – in reality, he could not believe that any of them would get out of the room alive. He had failed them; he knew this as those sounds of violent celebration became less of an echo and more of a death knell, pealing with bloody glory as their final moment approached.

For the first time in all his years, both human and vampire, he truly felt that all was lost.

The cold, winter moon had faded somewhat as Coreen and Mike stepped out of the car, their newly acquired weaponry in tow. The morning sky was beginning to wash away the cool darkness of the night, leaving an unwelcome tingling along Coreen's skin in the weak morning light. She walked purposefully under the turquoise sky towards the building, an obvious silence still surrounding them as Mike awkwardly followed.

He had made the rather strategic decision not to confront his companion about her strange, aggressive behaviour, decided to avoid finding himself on the receiving end of whatever the hell she had done to Kane. He figured Vicki would probably know more about it, preferring to get the job done and get out of the mire of supernatural mess he had been dragged into. Part of him knew Coreen was already in too deep, and as time had gone on he half expected her naive curiosity to get the better of her. He resolved himself to doing what he could when the right time came – if he couldn't save Vicki from the dark future ahead of her, maybe it wasn't too late for her young assistant.

Coreen made no attempt to look back as she strode down the crumbling stairwell with quiet confidence, her hand clasped tightly around the hilt of a sharp dagger made of pure silver, careful not to catch herself on the keen blade, which glistened with light blue hues in the pale dawn light pervading the darkness. Adrenaline raced through her body with each quick, nimble step, her own blood pounding noisily in her ears as she grew closer to the heart of the basement.

She stopped in the shadows, with Mike close behind, and listened; the loud, impatient stomping of feet and rush of movement above alerted her as, without saying a word, she dashed through the dusty hallways and stopped behind a tall, young Nosferatu guarding the entrance to the room.

He spun round to meet her narrowed eyes, sensing her racing pulse rather than her swift, silent movements, a throaty growl raging in his throat and red eyes glinting with malevolence, sunken in his dappled, greying skin. His body was poised, taut with fury and coiled, like a tightened spring, as Coreen raised the blade slowly.

"If you hand over the keys, I'll let you live," she said evenly, staring deep into the crimson eyes of the resolute creature.

"If you turn around and walk away, I _might_ let you live," the guard growled in reply.

Coreen smiled, unblinking, as her eyes crackled with anticipation. "If you insist."

Without a moment's hesitation, she kicked the guard hard in the stomach, causing him to double over and stagger back into the dusty, would-be tomb of his captives, stunned momentarily before he doubled his efforts against her. Mike rushed past the pair as they traded vicious blows, interested only in Vicki's wellbeing as she lay, crumpled and bloody on the hard, stone floor. He checked her pulse, relieved to feel a slow, but strong enough beat against his now bloodstained hand, and pulled her towards him, cradling her gently enough to warm her, but not hurt her. He dared not intervene as he and Henry stared at the scene with disbelief, whilst Christina smiled broadly with satisfaction as she felt the sickening fear of death dissipate into optimism.

Coreen, meanwhile, continued to fight furiously against the Nosferatu, slashing wildly with her silver dagger as he simply evaded her, taunting her with his preternaturally fast movements. She fell back as he struck her harshly across the face, causing a trickle of blood to run from her mouth as she wiped it off; she looked at the smear of blood on her hand as the guard laughed, only barely listening to his claims of world domination and defeat of the 'blood traitors', whatever they were. As he ranted with a throaty rage, something seemed to rise within her, just as it had done when she faced Kane, that threatened to overtake her rationality – an anger that eclipsed even the strongest fury she had felt, making the prospect of falling into a frenzy seem plausible and, even stranger, unavoidable.

It was with black eyes, filled with endless hatred, that she looked up at her attacker; his laughter stopped but, if anything, this new side to his enemy had only really instilled further anger at the misuse of his bloodline as he charged towards her, a war cry rattling through his throat that echoed in the dusty air of the dawn. Coreen said nothing – as if she had already seen him coming, she ducked and moved to one side, her arm stretched out with the keen blade held tightly in her grip. The guard charged, confusion set across his face, straight into the waiting, gleaming dagger as it slashed a deep wound across his taut stomach, leaving a trail of blood behind him as he fell to the floor.

Without knowing precisely how she had been able to move so quickly, she raised herself back to full height, placing her foot firmly on the naked chest of the now slightly more compliant guard.

"The key," she said simply, watching him writhe with silent pain as he continued to bleed old, ancient blood. "Now."

The guard laughed through the pain with a horrific, fanged grimace she knew she would not forget. The anger in his eyes was palpable, a tangible heat in the freezing cold air around them, his skin pulled even more tautly against the jagged bones of his face as his toothed smile became wider.

"It won't do you any good," he rasped. "I'll heal, and I'll find you. Believe me."

Coreen returned a dark, forbidding smile as she knelt by the monster, looking deep into his crimson eyes beneath his furrowed, creased brow as she brought the blade quickly across his throat; blood seeped from his neck as the remarkable dagger, imbued with uncommon power, cut through his entire neck with very little effort, leaving the loose head to loll sickeningly next to the decapitated body.

"I doubt that," she said quietly as she snatched the glinting key from his belt triumphantly, her eyes fading back to their natural, chestnut brown as she inhaled the scent of the kill, adrenaline rushing under her skin as she turned to the captives.

"Coreen, over here," Christina ordered in stern, clipped tones, mentally forcing her will upon her protégée as she felt their invisible connection grow stronger. "Get me out of this."

Coreen bowed her head in subservience to her; she hurried over without another word, all individual power and strength momentarily subdued as she reached up to free her, releasing the chains as the key clicked quietly in the lock.

Christina smiled broadly, a huge relief flowing through her as she massaged her aching wrists instinctively. She walked over to Henry and ran her hand slowly, longingly across his icy cheek as he glared at her with menace; she allowed her fingers to linger on his hard, marbled jaw, a kind of sadness mingled with a new sense of freedom beginning to take hold of her.

"I'm sorry it had to end this way, Henry," she said, a wistfulness prompted by a flurry of memories permeating her tone as her voiced swayed with nostalgia. "But I'm not sorry for making you what you are now. I'll never be sorry for the brief time we had but, as always, everyone and everything comes to an end, eventually."

Henry shook away her lingering hand with his head, anxious to distance himself from whatever spark of passion for her still burned within him. Christina smiled, a detached sort of sadness bringing a rare note of humanity to her expression; she was ready to finally let go of her one hindrance, the one thing that kept her attached to her forgotten human nature and chained her to memories of longing, of the love and loss from hundreds of years ago. She paid no attention to the other inhabitants of the room, listening only to the silence of her long-lost lover as he gritted his teeth and looked pointedly away, saying nothing and yet conveying his righteous stubbornness effortlessly. She had loved his graceful nobility, as well as his blue-blooded ruthlessness and the superiority he enjoyed in his early preternatural life; but now, like all good things she had discovered, he must come to his end.

It was with her freedom in mind that she finally turned away from him, in thought as well as deed; with a commanding glance at Coreen that conveyed her orders without speaking, she walked briskly out of the room, her boots clicking and scuffing on the small, broken stones of the floor as the noise echoed into the cold air around them.

Coreen duly followed, albeit more slowly than her mistress as that creeping sense of guilt she had felt before calling Mike to the rescue threatened to change her mind. She hesitated in the freezing, heavy silence, looking back to her friends as both Mike and Henry looked on, helpless. Her eyes glanced over Vicki, whose heartbeat continued to pump meagrely through the darkness she was engulfed in, and a stab of pity struck her heart. She turned back to the crumbling doorway as she felt Christina's forceful, relentless pull fall upon her and, before she could fight it no longer, bent down and gently dropped the silver key on the hard stone floor. Nothing was said as she moved swiftly out of the room, leaving a cold, pressing sadness upon those left behind.

Mike lay Vicki's head back gently on the floor underneath her as he scrambled for the key, Henry's encouragement only vague in his ears as he focussed on the task at hand. He knew he couldn't carry her out in time, that the vampire would once again have to come to her rescue rather than him – all this struck an unpleasant, selfish chord within him as he quickly unlocked Henry's chains and left him to do the right thing; even he could hear the scuffles and shouting from the upper floors and could now appreciate the urgency of the situation.

"Go, quickly," he said with a dry, hoarse throat Henry had not been accustomed to hear from him. "There's a car, should still be open. Use it."

Henry looked back, Vicki lying limply in his arms as he nodded briskly, summoning his strength to rush them both quickly out of danger. A quick gust of frozen air washed over the former detective as he was left alone, a rush of clarity entering his mind as he realised now what he had to do.

Henry rushed through the ruined stairways as quickly as he could, stumbling once or twice but never allowing his iron grip to slacken on his warm, fragile companion. It was good to feel her in his arms again, damaged as she may be, and he couldn't help but appreciate her familiar smell, her simple, beautiful presence back in his life. Her soft, pliant and fragrant skin pressed neatly against his own, and he could hear that she still had some fight in her.

He lay her down gently on the smooth, black leather of the car's back seat, taking care to rest her head softly on the soft surface as she breathed gently underneath him. He knew there was only one thing he could possibly do, a resolution that resonated with a deep foreboding in his mind – this was the definition of the last resort, the cause to recite the infamous phrase regarding desperate times, and something he knew he would eventually come to regret. He looked at the PI with loving sorrow and, taking a deep breath, bit savagely into the cold, hard skin of his wrist, grimacing with pain and grief as he brought the open wound to her lips.

He couldn't look at her whilst she did what came naturally, and could only feel the slight stirring of her lips on his bleeding arm in the biting cold. He breathed deeply, focussing on the right moment to let go and make sure she was still herself, to ensure the potent mixture of his blood didn't take her over the edge and into the harsh loneliness of his nocturnal world. His blood flowed into her like burning lead, pulling through his body without remorse as she drank deeper and deeper, unwilling to stop as she was pulled into his very essence; Henry was forced to wrench himself away with an anguished, pained cry, his breath hanging heavily in the wintry air as he regained his composure, eyes returning to their usual deep brown irises framed in the bleak light of dawn.

It was just as he felt a panic within him, a prickling of warning across his skin that made him sick with discomfort, that Vicki finally opened her eyes, her heartbeat singing strongly to him as he weakened, falling to his knees on the cold, stony ground.

"Mike?" she said weakly, bespectacled eyes just about able to spot a trench-coated, nimble figure running from the building as a light dusting of snow began to fall on them from above.

"Henry! Get in the car!" He shouted with undeniable urgency. "We have to go, now!"

Henry turned his fatigued body to face him, all the while trying to hoist himself up from the ground at the side of the car. He managed, with great difficulty, to get to his feet and, flinging the back door closed and the passenger door open, collapsed onto the seat. He was exhausted, and the passing of daybreak threatened his strength even further as the sickness and fear of the sun pulsed through him.

Mike threw himself into the drivers seat, revving the engine with determination as they roared onto the open road; just as the building had nearly faded into the distance behind them, a loud explosion rattled the barren landscape now covered lightly with a carpet of fresh snow. Henry only briefly saw the flames roar boldly behind them as, with little choice, he surrendered to the impending daylight with a long, drawn out sigh, descending into fatigue and a dreamless, dead sleep.

"That is you, Mike, isn't it?" came a strengthening voice from behind.

"Course it is," he replied gently. "You know I'm here. Henry's here too, he's just a little tired I guess."

"Did I…with Henry? And what about Coreen? Where's Coreen?"

"Don't worry about specifics now, Vic. We're all okay, Coreen's alive but a little…confused. We'll get her back, I promise but, at least for now, she's safe. Just focus on getting yourself right again, get some rest and…well, we'll talk about it later, okay? Right now, we've got to get you back home, and we've got about thirty minutes before Prince Charming here turns into a pile of dust and ego."

Vicki smiled, uniquely grateful for his blatant sarcasm as she shifted slightly in her seat, the memories of the evening pushed to one side as her mind flagged with tiredness.

"Alright, detective," she conceded, fading into a warm sleep. "Do what you gotta do."


End file.
